


The Poisoned Apple (Chapter 1 to 36, under extensive beta)

by SeveranSnape



Series: The Poisoned Apple [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, France - Beauxbatons - Gringotts, Harry Potter - Freeform, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Series, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 218,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeveranSnape/pseuds/SeveranSnape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An atrocious act by Draco Malfoy in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor forced Hermione Granger to leave behind everything she ever cared for. Six years later, Draco after losing all that he cared for, comes face to face with the consequences. The once innocent Apple now poisoned is his last resort. Will he leave behind old Draco and earn Hermione's trust to start a new beginning?</p><p>Rating: Mature.</p><p>Genre: Angst & Hurt/Comfort.</p><p>ATTENTION: THE AUTHOR HUMBLY ASKS EVERYONE WHO ARE UNDERAGE, TEENAGERS OR LOOKING FOR A ROMANCE BETWEEN A RAPIST AND A SURVIVOR, TO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING STORY. THIS STORY IS VERY CONTROVERSIAL AND BASED ON REAL LIFE EVENTS. 'THE POISONED APPLE' IS THE MOST UNCONVENTIONAL DRAMIONE, EVER, ON WEB.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: 'The Poisoned Apple' is my first attempt in any kind of fanfiction and therefore I kindly ask for constructive reviews from my readers. English is my second language. I have used French dialogues in this chapter and thanks to Wane Soo-Jin for correcting the French.
> 
> The rating for this chapter is K.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Harry Potter and related characters are copyright to J K Rowling and Warner Bros. Any resemblance to other characters is purely co-incidental. No money or profit is being gained from this writing.

                                                                             

 

**Chapter 1: Prologue.**

" **O** UCH!"

Draco Malfoy, absentmindedly wandering the streets of Paris near 'Jardin des Tuileries', was brought to his senses by a sudden thud and a loud cry of pain. Startled, he looked around for the source of the sound and after a few moments of frantic scrutiny of surroundings, realized that it was coming from a small boy who lay at his feet, rubbing his eye.

'Damn! How can he be so careless?'

Not thinking any further and cursing himself under the breath for his lack of attention while walking, he immediately sat down to inspect the boy.

"Are you hurt, kid?" he asked anxiously as he searched for any obvious signs of trauma in his face.

The boy did not answer but kept rubbing his left eye.

'Damn!' Draco gulped and cursed again. Had he wounded the boy grievously?

"Let me see. Let me see your eye, kid," he almost pleaded, trying hard to conceal a growing sense of alarm from his voice.

The boy still did not comply. He kept rubbing his eye painfully while completely ignoring his plea.

Draco looked around helplessly, 'Where are the boy's parents?' he thought desperately. 'Why isn't he listening to me?'

And then he realized.

He had been trying to talk to a French boy in the middle of a street full of French people in front of a famous French park in: English.

'Damn again and again and again!'

Utterly disgusted by his sense of space, he leaned forward to the small boy and spoke in very clear French: _Est-Tu blessé gamin ?_ (Are you hurt, kid?)

To his immense relief, the boy nodded this time, all the while sniffing and rubbing his left eye.

For some inexplicable reason Draco's heart melted at the sight. He reached, grabbed the boy's hand carefully to remove it from his eye and said gently, _"Je ne vais pas te faire de mal. Laisse-moi voir."_ (I am not going to hurt you. Let me see.)

The boy didn’t protest and looked at him.

Draco's breath caught in his throat.

The wide eyes now staring at him, one red and watering along with its other normal counterpart, were exactly the same shape and colour as his own: Grey.

The 'Malfoy Grey'.

But that was just the beginning. As his eyes trailed down along the face of the slightly startled and painful looking boy, he discovered other unmistakable Malfoy traits: pale flawless complexion, pointed nose and chin, high cheekbones and lips perfect for their trademark Malfoy sneer.

A face of Draco's own younger self; a face that was destined to become a handsome man in the future.

Completely oblivious to his surroundings Draco gaped at the boy, too mesmerized to even blink.

The little boy was wearing a pair of blue jeans, a red and white striped T-shirt along with a blue cap to match his trousers.

Transfixed and hardly daring to breathe Draco reached forward and removed the cap from the boy’s little head.

His gaze fell upon the small, messy silvery-blonde curls adorning his head. He looked almost like—

"Scorpius!" Draco cried out.

 _"Excusez-moi, Monsieur! Quefaites-vouz?"_ (Excuse me, Mister! What are you doing?)

Draco was snapped back to reality from his reverie by an angry female voice. So lost was he in his thoughts that he had failed to notice the female figure now flanking the boy. Following the direction of the voice, he looked up and found a young woman staring down at him, looking livid.

"Pardon?" he asked instead, simply too lost to voice his thoughts properly.

The woman seemed to get even angrier at his apparent confusion. She flared her nose visibly and grasped the boy protectively around her arms.

 _"Pourquoi regardez-vous cet enfant?"_ (Why are you staring at this boy?) She asked Draco in a deadly cold voice.

Unable to comprehend what to say in response, Draco simply stared at the woman and the boy before him.

The boy except for his curly pattern of hair looked exactly like his own miniature self at the age of five or six. The woman on the other hand was nothing remotely like the boy. Her hair was straight light brown and she had a pale freckled face, a small chin, a button nose and deep blue eyes, which were blazing at the moment.

 _"Quelest son prénom?"_ (What is his name?) He heard himself asking her.

The woman huffed angrily in response and snatched the boy's cap from Draco's hand. She placed it on the boy's curl-adorned head, glared at him and said through gritted teeth:

 _"Ne le touchez pas!"_ (Don't touch him!)

She hoisted the boy, who was still staring at Draco, on her lap and kissed him tenderly on his cheek.

 _"On s'en va, Adrian."_ (Come, Adrian.) She said. With one last glare at Draco's direction, she spun at her heels and started walking towards the entrance of the Tuileries Garden.

Draco stood rooted to the spot watching the retreating figure of the woman with the angelic boy with only one word reverberating across his mind: Adrian! Adrian! Adrian!

Then in the flash of a blink, the woman and the boy were gone.

Draco came to his senses and lunged forward frantically as if trying to feel the woman and the boy in the thin air.

"Scorpius! Adrian! Scorpius! Adrian!" he called after the boy. He looked around and searched the place, bewildered.

But they were nowhere to be seen.

"No! No! No! Come back to me, Scorpius! Come back to Father!" he screamed in despair before he tore into the park in the search of his lost son.

 


	2. The Lost Son of Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not being partial to any country or nation in this story. Britain and France are both great countries with rich history and heritage. Therefore the views of the characters are solely for the sake of the story.
> 
> I found 'the Château de la Grange-Bléneau' in Wikipedia and thought it might go well with the story. I know that the Château is uninhabited and the Chombrun's were not Pureblood wizards.They were Muggles, just like us
> 
> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. k. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money is being earned from this work.

                                                     

 

**Chapter 2: The Lost Son of Malfoy.**

**T** he Château de la Grange-Bléneau, known as the official residence of the Malfoy family in France, was a huge medieval castle located at the outskirts of Île-de-France, the wealthiest and most populous of the twenty-seven administrative regions of France. Originally recorded since the 13th century, the castle has belonged to several families: Courtenay, Aubusson-La Feuillade and d'Aguesseau. Ownership passed from the d'Aguesseau to Marquis de La Fayette, who lived there until his death in 1834. After La Fayette's death, his grandson, Jules de Lasteyrie married Olivia de Rohan-Chabot and the couple lived at la Grange-Bléneau for 54 years. Their son, Louis de Lasteyrie, sold the home to his distant cousin, René de Chombrun, in 1955,thus passing this Château from Muggle to their current Wizard owners.

In the year 1975, René de Chombrun's only daughter, Audré de Chombrun, was married off to Morpheus Abraxas Malfoy, son of Abraxas Malfoy of the well-known British Pureblood Wizarding family, the Malfoys. The Château was currently in possession of their only son Julian de Chombrun-Malfoy, who inherited it after an early demise of his father. The building dating from the 14th century and altered slightly in the 17th century included five circular towers from the 15th century and a chapel. The Château was surrounded by two plush gardens, three large fountains, a small forest with an all season fruit orchard.

It was a well acknowledged fact in the neighbourhood surrounding the Château that the Malfoy's, though rich and very influential, were social and well-mannered to their friends and neighbours, an uncommon trait for a family of their status. Julian Malfoy, the Man of the Château, was friendly and easy-going despite having a British father and being educated in a strange school called Beauxbatons. His mother, Lady Audré, although not a social peacock, was always ready to help her neighbours and never missed an invitation from them. Julian's only sister Lillian, considered as the most beautiful young lady of the neighbourhood, both by her friends and foes, was far from arrogant; with aristocratic manners of her ancestors admixed with cheery playfulness of the modern generation, she was a many men's dream woman. All in all the family was considered a pleasant company by those who knew them well.

What the Muggles didn't know about this popular and respected family was that they were a cross between two famous Pureblood Wizarding families: the French Chombruns and the British Malfoys; a fact for which they were considered very high amongst the French Wizarding Society. Both families had rich heritages dating back to 10th century. True that the reputation of the British wing of the family: the Malfoys, were highly compromised during the Second Rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort, but much to the gratefulness of the French Wizarding Community, the Franco-British Chombrun-Malfoys neither participated nor supported any matters related with the Dark Lord. It was well known even to the French Wizarding Community that the British Malfoys carried certain prejudices regarding blood status but the French Malfoys were not such hypocrites. In fact they had many Muggleborn friends and lived comfortably in a Muggle neighbourhood.

But even such a polished reputation was not good enough to keep them out of general conversation. For one, the mysterious circumstances regarding the marriage between Morpheus Malfoy and Audré de Chombrun was still considered a hot topic of discussion whenever elderly witches were gathered for any occasion and Lady Audré was out of earshot. The British Malfoys were no big French Lovers. Then why would Morpheus Malfoy, eldest son of Abraxas Malfoy, get betrothed to a French pureblood witch such as Audré? It was not that she wasn't pretty or aristocratic enough for a Malfoy; she was far from it. But she was a French. Some speculated that Morpheus did not like his father's narrow-minded prejudices and decided to leave the family for good. Others thought that he defied his father for his love for Audré. The real reason, due to lack of answers from the respective parties were, of course: unknown.

•••••

Narcissa Malfoy and her sister-in-law Audré de Chombrun-Malfoy were comfortably seated in the latter's Château parlour and were just about to take a sip from their evening coffee when the door swung open unannounced and Lillian burst in, in a state of great alarm.

"What's it Lillian?" her mother enquired in slightly accented English. Usually they conversed in French but it was impolite to do so in the presence of an English guest.

Lillian was panting. "It's Brother Draco! I think he's not well!" She said, looking panic stricken, "I was walking in the garden when he apparated in our Apparition Point. He stood there for a while, and I noticed that he was crying! But before I could ask him what was wrong, he ran inside. I followed him to his suite but he slammed the door on my face! So I came here to notify Aunt." she looked at Draco’s mother.

Narcissa was on her feet in an instant and left the parlour almost running, with Audré and Lillian following her closely. The guest chamber assigned for Draco was on the second floor. As soon as Narcissa reached there, she turned the door knob feverishly, trying to open the door. But it was locked from inside.

"Draco, dear! Are you alright?" she pressed her right ear against the door and called, hoping against hope that he didn't cast a Silencing Charm on the door.

There was no answer. The occupant either chose to ignore his mother or was oblivious to her queries.

"Draco!" Narcissa pounded loudly on the door and it creaked slightly, "Draco! Please open the door!" She was on the verge of tears now.

Another ten minutes passed but no amount of pounding, yelling or crying from Narcissa was successful in yielding the door to be opened. Use of various unlocking spells also met with the same results.

"What if he harms himself, Audré?" Narcissa burst into tears and started pounding the door with more force. Audré, meanwhile, called the resident House-Elf matriarch Peggy to bring the keys for all the doors of Château.

Once brought, Narcissa eyed them with suspicion. "How can these Muggle keys open the damn door when all my unlocking spells have failed?" she asked incredulously.

Audré smiled kindly at her. "These are no Muggle keys, my dear. They were specially made upon my father's order by the famous 'Klemens Key-makers'. No spell or ward can prevent these from opening the door. Also only the Man or the Lady of the Château can rightfully use them. There is no fear that thieves or plunders might break in using them." she explained while searching the right key for Draco's door.

Narcissa was still unconvinced and watched in silent disbelief as Audré inserted a very simple Muggle-looking key into the lock and turned it.

The door opened without any protest.

As if a floodgate has been opened, Narcissa almost burst into the room and looked around. It was a spacious suite with a sitting room, study, bedroom, bathroom and a balcony - every room almost dark now. Audré gave her wand a flick and the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling was lighted, illuminating the place. Everything seemed to be in order except for Draco who was nowhere to be seen.

"Draco!" Narcissa called desperately, "Draco! My son! Where are you?"

Then came a sound of something crushing against wall. It was on their left and they followed it immediately.

They found Draco in his bedroom – his neat silvery blonde hair ruffled, impeccable clothes wrinkled and elegant face tear-stricken. He kept throwing a ceramic statuette to the opposite wall, summoning and repairing it non-verbally to throw it once again.

Narcissa knew better not to question her son in that state. Draco looked angry, depressed and extremely agitated. Instead, she covered the small space between them and hugged him tightly.

"It's okay, Draco dear! Whatever it is, it’s fine." She whispered gently into his ear. Her son stood there like a statue himself, not moving a muscle as she hugged him. They didn't speak for a while, during which she stroked his messy hair soothingly. 

"Mother!" Draco, under her comforting touch, suddenly released the statuette, hugged his mother and broke into an uncontrollable sob. "I saw him, mother! I saw him!" he cried in anguish.

His mother did not enquire whom he had seen. She knew Draco would reveal it eventually. She just kept stroking his hair gently.

Draco calmed down after a few minutes. "I am crying like a silly child!" he said, wiping his eyes in the sleeve.

"It is alright, Draco." his mother assured him, "It's fine to cry sometimes.” She sighed and they released each other and she looked up at him, her own eyes tearful.

"Draco, please promise me that you'll never lock yourself up again. Okay? I almost died in fright when I couldn't open that door. For a moment, I thought I have lost you forever.” She shuddered at the very thought, “Thanks to your aunt. She had those enchanted keys. Else..." she paused and took Draco’s hands in hers, "You are the only one I have, Draco. Please have pity on your poor mother! Don't ever lock yourself up or harm yourself. Promise me. Okay?" she pleaded.

Draco nodded silently. His mother looked greatly relieved.

“Come, sit here.” Narcissa guided her son to the nearest seat and motioned him to sit. Meanwhile, Audré had conjured a goblet of water for her nephew and she handed it to Narcissa. They were standing at the doorway, watching the mother and son interact in their own way.

"Water?" Narcissa offered the goblet to Draco. He took it from her hand, emptied the water in one go and cleared his throat. He then looked at the other occupants of the room and took a deep breath as if bracing himself before a very unpleasant announcement.

"I saw him today!" he said in a dramatic tone.

"Whom did you see, dear?" his mother asked in a carefully casual tone.

"Scorpius!" Draco replied cautiously. His face was pale but his eyes burning like coals.

Narcissa tensed and exchanged a nervous look with Audré. "Where did you see him, dear?" she asked, trying hard not to sound alarmed.

"Near Tuileries Garden." Draco leaned against his chair and replied confidently.

Narcissa conjured what looked like a very strained smile. "Draco, I know you are very upset but…" she started but her son cut in.

" Mother, I know what you are thinking. I know.” He held up a hand, “But I am _not_ out of my rockers and I _definitely did not hallucinate_!" He pressed on the point.

Narcissa was careful to not show her frustration. "Draco, dearest, you must realize your claims are impossible!" she supplied reasonably.

Draco looked livid. "I know mother but I assure you I am not mad. How could you even imagine that I am…" he almost exclaimed but Audré stepped forward. She cast a warning look at Narcissa and looked at Draco when she spoke.

"Now, now, Draco. We certainly don't think you are going mad, dear. So there is no need to get so excited about that." She said calmly. "But I also think that it will be better if you could explain everything to us, you know, so that we can understand it more fully. After all, we were not there when you saw Scorpius in Tuileries Garden. Were we, Narcissa?" She asked her sister-in-law for support.

Narcissa shook her head.

Draco looked at his aunt. Ever since their visit to France at his Uncle's home two weeks ago, he has found this elderly woman to be a very logical yet an easy-going person. It was something new to him. Except for his aunt, all the women he came across until now were either logical but very severe or foolish and easy-going. Being gifted with two opposite qualities was rare to him and somehow, internally, he could not appreciate enough his uncle's choice of a wife. There was something about Audré that made him think that he could rely on her intelligence.

Draco nodded and gestured the ladies to take seats. Once seated, he recounted the afternoon's events calmly, taking great care to mention every single detail. When he finished his mother and Lillian looked shocked, as expected, but Audré looked thoughtful.

Draco leaned back on his sofa and waited for the verdict. Has or has he not seen his son?

It was Narcissa who broke the silence. "Draco, dear,” her tone was patient and guarded, “...I can understand what you are going through now…but…but…” she bit her lips painfully, “…our little Scorpius died at the age of two."

Draco leaned forward. "Do you think that I don't know that already?" he almost growled at his mother. "I know Scorpius died at the age of two! I know it! And the other two I had died too!" He shook his head, visibly disturbed that his mother was questioning his sanity. "I also happen to remember that my wife, Astoria, died just a month ago from heavy bleeding following her second miscarriage. There is no need to remind me all those wonderful facts, mother!" he spat savagely.

Narcissa visibly paled and flinched at her son's vehement reaction but Audré took charge again.

"Calm down, Draco." she said gently and he turned her gaze to her. Audré looked thoughtful, with a deep furrow between her brows. "We all understand that you have been through a lot but losing temper won’t get you anywhere. Narcissa is just as shocked as you might have been had your son told you that he saw your dead grandson in a French garden." she said, looking straight to him.

Draco failed to argue. He knew better now that this woman was made of a different kind of material and arguing with her wasn’t as easy as it was with his own mother.

"However, I must admit you have made me curious."Audré continued in a thoughtful voice, "I would like to find out what really happened." she fixed Draco with a piercing look.

Whatever reaction Draco had expected previously, it was clearly not this. He had thought that no one in his family would believe him and react as if he has finally gone crazy, followed by weekly visits to some psychotherapist. Narcissa has already reacted as he had expected her to but there she sat, his aunt Audré, contemplating the incident under different lights as if she believed his every word. Her demeanor offered him a curious and impossible hope. He searched her face for any signs of fake interest or sarcasm but found none. This dark haired and blue-eyed witch, about whom his father had always reserved _the_ most scathing and hateful comments, was perhaps the most intriguing person he has ever met. Draco himself could not rationalize afternoon's events; especially when he knew that Scorpius died two years ago. But he could not also forget the boy who looked so much like his dead son.

"Forgive me, Audré dear but I fail to comprehend what you mean by ‘what really happened." Narcissa quoted her, looking positively scandalized by her son and sister-in-law's strange behaviour.

"In a minute, dear." Audré smiled kindly at Narcissa before turning to her daughter. She gave her a meaningful look and said, “Lillian dear, please be a darling and give your aunt and cousin a dose of Calming Draught.” She stood up, “I’ll fetch something that can help us all."

Lillian nodded and Audré left silently.

Narcissa and Draco both were curious to know what was going on inside Audré's mind. But try as they might, it was beyond their capability. Meanwhile, Lillian served them a dose of Calming Draught and Draco drifted once again into the memories of the afternoon. Narcissa silently prayed her son's recovery.

When Audré entered Draco's room ten minutes later she was carrying a shallow basin full of Rune markings around it.

"A Pensieve?" Draco exclaimed; he was now beginning to understand his aunt's motive, or at least he thought he did.

"Yes. A Pensieve" Audré affirmed. She placed the delicate object carefully on the table before Draco, "It belonged to your uncle Morpheus. You surely know that he was one of the Chief Warlocks in French Wizengamot. He used this Pensieve to witness memories provided by convicted criminals or eye witnesses. Pity, Julian does not use it like his father did but some of Morpheus's old colleagues still visit us only to use this beauty." There was a tinge of pride in her voice.

Audré took out her wand and tapped on the Pensieve. It glowed.

"Now, Draco, I want you to remove that particular memory and place it in this Pensieve." Audré explained, even though it was obvious what her motive was. "I may not be as professional as your uncle was but I helped him in many cases as a public prosecutor. I can assure that I’ll be able to distinguish between a true memory and a false one." She said confidently.

Draco resisted an urge to roll his eyes at his aunt's attempt to appear modest. He knew for a fact that Audré Chombrun Malfoy was considered as one of the best Public Prosecutors France has ever seen. He took out his own wand, pressed the tip against his temple and concentrating hard, removed a shimmering silvery strand of memory. He dropped it carefully into the Pensieve where it started to swirl.

Audré took a deep breath and plunged her face into the Pensieve.

Minutes passed on. Everyone waited in silent anticipation while Audré watched Draco's memory. When she came up, after almost fifteen minutes, everyone was holding their breaths. The room had an atmosphere of a courtroom just before a sentence was pronounced.

"Well, it's real!" André announced simply. She looked at the two most apprehensive people, Draco and Narcissa. "It's real Narcissa." She repeated.

Narcissa and Draco slumped back in their respective seats, one out of fatigue and the other out of relief.

" Merlin, Audré! Are you sure?" Narcissa croaked while Draco stared at his aunt. For a moment he himself had thought that everything was his imagination.

"Positive. Draco was not hallucinating." Audré affirmed, "In fact I am surprised at his ability to produce such a clear memory in this state of shock. I am impressed, Narcissa. But the most curious thing is that the little boy in his memory is an exact miniature of Draco. He is hardly six and yet looks so much like him. Had I not known that Scorpius is no more, I would have thought that they are father and son." She motioned Narcissa to the Pensieve, "Go on, see it yourself Narcissa." she said.

Narcissa obliged without further ado followed by Lillian and when they finally came up both women had shock written on their face; especially Narcissa.

"But how is that possible?" She asked incredulously, her blue eyes full of questions.

" That is the same question playing in my mind too." Audré said thoughtfully, her eyes now fixed on Draco who has not spoken since he dropped his memory into the Pensieve. "Surely, Draco can enlighten us."

Draco shook his head. He had been pondering over the same question. "I have no idea, aunt. I have never seen that woman in my life." He said confidently, "The only woman I have ever had children with was my wife, Astoria, who is dead now. I never had any serious affairs with any other woman." He looked at his Aunt's eyes. "I know it's hard to believe considering my reputation as an Ex-Death Eater but I am not a womanizer." He said firmly, "You can even subject me to Veritaserum or anything but my statement will be the same. I don’t know how this boy came into being. Besides, the woman who snatched him from me, is a Frenchwoman." He looked defensively at his aunt, "Please aunt, I mean no offense but you surely understand that I was brought up in an environment not very friendly towards the French. Father never missed an opportunity to insult them. But I assure you that I don't share his ideas anymore." He said solemnly.

Silence followed Draco's sincere admission. Then Lillian spoke for the first time. "Then you don't have any prejudices against the French?"

Draco scrutinized his cousin's pretty features. With silvery blonde long hair and blue eyes, she looked almost like him.

"I can't tell _that_ about everyone but surely I don't have any against you and aunt Audré.” He replied, “You two probably are the most amazing woman I have ever met and I sincerely ask for forgiveness for slamming the door on your face."

Draco was never very apt at apologizing and a very awkward silence followed.

"Why not? Of course. We knew we are the two most amazing _Frenchwoman_ Draco ever met! Aren’t we, Lillian?" Audré laughed and asked her daughter mockingly. They all laughed and the tension broke. Suddenly everyone felt relieved.

"Now Draco, I think you had enough emotional outbursts for an entire week." Audré told her nephew as she stood up, "Go, take a bath and come for dinner. After that, we’ll sit down and try to find out a way to know who the strange boy or his mother is."

Draco nodded in approval and stood up. A hot shower sounded like a good idea. "By the way, aunt, his name is Adrian." He informed her. Somehow, the name sounded good and grand. Adrian.

"I noticed that already, Draco." Audré said, "It's not a very common French name, rather British, I should say. It will be good clue in our pursuit.” She frowned, "Now dear, go and relax. We have plenty of things to discuss after dinner." She patted him on the shoulder and left with Lillian.

Draco watched their retreating forms and then turned to his mother. "I am very sorry, mother. I should not have yelled at you." he said looking at his feet.

Narcissa stood up and hugged her son. Draco melted to her touch, "It's alright, dearest. I know what you are going through and don't blame you to the slightest." she said gently stroking his silvery-blonde hair. "Now I think you should follow your aunt's advice and go to take a bath." She released her son, "Audré really is an amazing woman. My opinion of her changed remarkably after this evening." she smiled at him, "Take your time and see you at dinner."

"Yes, mother." Draco smiled back. After Narcissa left he stood there for a moment contemplating what his aunt was going to do to find out the boy before turning to leave for bathroom, his mood considerably lighter.


	3. The Curse Breaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter basically deals with Hermione Granger's new life in France. I thought I should give a over view of her current condition before diving into deeper complexities.
> 
> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No profit is being made from this story.

****

 

** Chapter 3: The Curse Breaker **

**M** ornings in Gringotts Wizarding Bank were never considered pleasant by Hermione Granger, its Chief Curse Breaker. For one thing, her office as was located in dungeons, a place she never felt easy, due to a past that still haunted her. For another she hated going through the same tantrum her son Adrian threw every morning when she left for her office, insisting her to stay or to take him with her.

Hermione’s job as the Curse Breaker in French branch of Gringotts was not an easy one. Her work was to check, remove, and restore any cursed object that crossed the boundary of Gringotts. Most of these objects were owned by rich pureblood families and curses were placed to prevent its passing to their untrustworthy relatives. It was Hermione’s job to remove them before it was passed to their rightful owners. Sometimes the curses had a tendency to renew themselves over the time; so she had to check old and unused vaults for traces of such recurring curses. It was a challenging job but Hermione liked it because it gave her plenty of opportunity to test her knowledge and skills. She was also provided with facilities to carry out her own research on Permanent curses – a feat that has earned Hermione her Goblin boss’s respect and confidence.

Many of her classmates and teachers from Beauxbaton were astonished when they heard that Hermione had applied for the post of Curse Breaker in Gringotts. It was considered by many as a man’s job. Women, no matter how skilled they might be, were never encouraged to pursue such masculine careers. It demanded patience, skill as well as physical and mental power, something most people thought were sole property of wizards only. Hermione’s headmistress Madame Maxime even offered her a teaching post at Charms, considering that she was a mother only at the tender age of nineteen; but she respectfully declined her offer. It was not that she did not like teaching; books and reading being her passion still now. Hermione just could not imagine herself teaching in any place other than Hogwarts. It was her dream to teach at Hogwarts, alongside her mentors and when that dream was shattered she could not bring herself to pursue it again with a replacement, even for Beauxbaton.

Hermione’s life in France for last six years had been eventful but good. No one knew her here as _the_ famous Harry Potter’s friend and she preferred to keep it that way. During her seventh year in Beauxbaton Academy of Magic she was known to all by her middle name – Jean, a talented but unmarried pregnant witch who had lost her parents during the second Wizarding War in Britain and thus came to France to complete her education. She always kept a low profile in her classes and never volunteered to answer questions like she did when at Hogwarts. She had missed her old school and her best friends, Harry and Ron, terribly in all these years, but never tried to contact them again. Besides, she was not completely friendless at Beauxbaton. Her new friends were her fellow classmates, twin brother and sister by the name of Edmound and Eva Bellamy. Though they could never take the place of Harry and Ron in her heart but her new friends were funny, adventurous and always curious - something that Hermione liked about them. She spent her free days roaming around Paris with her son and her friends – visiting famous landmarks and trying new foods.

But the most interesting part of her new life was her five year old son Adrian.  He was the epitome of innocence and ray of hope in her empty life. Try as she might, Hermione can never hate him for his unfortunate mode of conception and hateful father. She was determined to keep him away from that evil man and raise him as a sensible, kind and loving gentleman – something his father never was or would be.  Even working at Gringotts was a part of that goal. It helped her to keep a low profile but she was respected wherever she introduced herself.

Adrian, however, always thought that his mother was after some relentless treasure hunt, Gringotts being the symbol of locked underground treasure in his innocent eyes, and he insisted Hermione to take him with her to the bank every morning. Every morning he would plea and cry to make his mother take him to her adventurous job and every morning Hermione, with extreme difficulty, would somehow manage to keep him at home safely with the Delacours. The Granger mother and son lived with Fleur Delacour’s family in a reputed neighbourhood near Paris and Hermione kept Adrian under watchful eyes of Fleur’s mother Apolline and younger sister Gabrielle until she returned home at evening. Her life in France would have been miserable had she not been placed under the care of Delacours – a debt Hermione considered she could never repay to Fleur. Even her job at Gringotts was recommended by Bill Weasley, the couple being the only ones who knew her true whereabouts. She even made Bill Adrian’s godfather and requested him to take care of her son should any danger befall her. The couple liked to visit them over the summer holidays each year when Fleur came to meet her parents.


	4. Of Old Scars and New Missions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. The other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being made from this story.

** **

 

** Chapter 4: Of Old Scars and New Missions **

" **O** h Jean! What are you doing here?" A voice cried and Hermione Granger looked up at its direction. She was deeply immersed in an old book about Poisoning Curses and had hardly noticed that someone has already entered her dungeon office. Looking up, it took her some time to focus her vision at the friendly smiling face of a blond and blue-eyed witch.

"Claudia! When did you come?" She asked, surprised. Claudia Beauchene was one of the Junior Curse Breakers at Gringotts and worked under Hermione as an intern. She was fresh out of Beauxbatons and like Hermione was determined to prove herself in the testosterone rich profession.

"You look awful, Jean." Claudia said instead, noticing Hermione. "Are you alright?"

Hermione cringed at her question. Of course she was not alright. How could she be? But certainly she was not going to admit it to Claudia, who surely would make a horrible fuss about it among her colleagues.

"I am fine, Claudia, thank you." She replied firmly.

Claudia shook her head in evident annoyance. "No, you are not fine, Jean." she protested firmly. Grabbing Hermione's arm, who gasped, and pulling her out of her chair behind the desk, she brought to her to the bathroom mirror.

"Look at you, Jean! Is this what you call _alright_?" Claudia pointed at Hermione’s reflection in the mirror. "Eyes sunken and red, face puffy and pale, messy hair. Is that what you call fine?" She demanded bossily.

Hermione did not know what to answer. The truth was evident in her feature; she was not alright, in fact, far from it. But admitting it to Claudia meant having to answer another twenty questions about the reason behind it. So she chose a safe path.

"I am just tired, Claudia dear, don't worry about me.” She forced a weary smile and said. “I think I need a vacation badly." In reality Hermione had been giving the idea a good thought lately. Adrian was also insisting the same.

"Excellent idea!" Claudia exclaimed, her worry for Hermione forgotten, "Where do you plan to go?" She inquired excitedly.

Hermione made her way back to her table with Claudia in tow, "I don’t know." she admitted with a shrug.

"How about Belgium?" Claudia offered, her blue eyes round. She was positively beaming now but Hermione cut in her thought.

"Claudia, dear, no more gossiping during office hour. Okay?" She said albeit sternly and Claudia pouted her lips, complaining.

"Okay" She said, "But do you know that it’s lunch time?"

It was only then that Hermione realized why Claudia had come. The two ladies preferred to take their lunch in the Staff Room where cooked food was served for humans. Gringotts goblins usually took their raw lunch in the dungeon dining hall.

"I am sorry dear, but I don’t have time for lunch." Hermione shook her head. "I must finish this one vault before Saturday and there still is plenty to do. I must go now." She left her seat clutching the book about Poisoning Curses.

Claudia grimaced, "That's not fair, Jean. You know I don't like eating alone." She complained as she followed Hermione out.

Hermione reached her door and opened it, "I promise to make it up next time." She consoled her. "Au revoir." she said and left her office, locking it firmly.

"Au revoir" Claudia said, waving her hand and looking sullen.

In truth Hermione was hungry and wanted to have her lunch badly. But going in that particular vault on full stomach would make her sick. Instead she called a service Goblin and asked him to take her to the vault she was working on currently.

•••••

**_Five days ago:_ **

Hermione was examining a curious looking casket in her laboratory and wondering how to make up with her son. Adrian had seemed particularly cross that morning, complaining heavily that his ‘Mama’ never took him out on holidays. At eleven o clock, she received a note from her boss requesting her presence at his office. Making a mental note to take Adrian out for dinner that night Hermione left her office and after a short walk through carefully concealed goblin-made passages, reached her boss's office.

She knocked before entering and found her boss with another unknown and pompous looking goblin.

"Bonjour, Geccemp." Hermione greeted her goblin boss.

"Bonjour, Curse Breaker Jean." Her boss, an elderly but cheery looking goblin by the name of Geccemp, replied brightly and motioned Hermione to sit.

"Is there any way I can help you? She asked him once settled down.

"Yes, Jean." Geccemp replied pleasantly, "I would like you to meet,” he motioned at the pompous Goblin, "…Goblin Gobtok from Gringotts Britain. And Gobtok,” Geccemp motioned to Hermione next, “…please meet, Chief Curse Breaker Jean Granger.”

Hermione gave Gobtok the goblin a small smile and a tiny nod of acknowledgement. Gobtok however gave her a curious look. "A _woman_ Curse Breaker?" he asked, positively shocked.

Had this encounter been four years ago, when Hermione had just started her job at Gringotts, she would have frowned at such sexist comment. But now-a-days she enjoyed the look of surprise on her client's face when they found out that a woman Curse Breaker was doing better job than their male counterparts.

Geccemp chose to completely ignore Gobtok's comment. "Now, Jean. Gobtok was sent by Gringotts Britain to us with an important job.” He said with a tone of serious business, “One of their very old and respected clients is reopening their family vault in Gringotts France after almost eighty years and he has brought us their keys." Geccemp announced proudly. "I would like you to handle the curse breaking of that particular vault personally."

Hermione was pleased and felt grateful to her boss. Geccemp, unlike other members of Goblin community, was friendly towards Humans and never missed an opportunity to complement their good works.

"It will be my honour, Sir." She replied, smiling. She has never addressed any other Goblin as 'Sir', a title she reserved only for those whom she truly respected and Geccemp definitely was one of the very few on her list.

"See, Gobtok? There is nothing to worry about." Geccemp said cheerfully, "Leave the keys and rest assured that they have been laid on the most capable of hands."

If Gobtok was assured he showed no outward signs. He simply reached inside his rich black robes and took out an elegant looking box which he placed on the table before them.

Hermione eyed the box cautiously. It was a rectangular silver box about the size of a small book with an ornate emerald encrusted 'M' engraved on the lid.

"What is the name of the family, may I ask?" She was slightly frowning at the box now.

Gobtok cleared his throat audibly. "They are one of the very old and prestigious Pureblood Wizarding families in Britain." his voice was deep, cold but proud, "They are called the Malfoys."

Hermione froze in her seat. "The _Malfoys_?" she repeated slowly, not believing her ears.

Gobtok chuckled in cold and sadistic pleasure. "Yes, Curse Breaker Jean, the Malfoys. I hope your legendary skills will meet enough challenges when you explore their reopened vault." he raised an ugly eyebrow.

Hermione did not know which one to respond to: the news that the Malfoys were reopening their vault in France or the carefully honeyed tone of Gobtok, challenging her skills in Curse Breaking. She decided to respond to the main problem at hand and looked up at Gobtok, her chin lifted defiantly.

"I never boast on my abilities, Goblin Gobtok." Hermione eyed him carefully, "But I find it highly amusing when someone with almost no knowledge about me, such as yourself, makes a fool of himself by commenting on my work before actually seeing it." She replied with an air of confidence.

Gobtok took her blow silently and pursed his lips. "Very well." He said after a moment and stood up to leave. "Chief Goblin Geccemp." He bowed at Geccemp, "Curse Breaker Jean." He looked at Hermione but didn’t bow, "I ask your permission to leave. My job here is done." he said with an air of self importance.

Hermione nodded coolly and watched as Geccemp accompanied Gobtok to his office door and when the latter left, closed it with a snap.

"Never mind his words, Jean. He's a bit snobbish." He said, settling down behind his desk.

"Not at all, sir." Hermione commented, though not very honestly. In reality Gobtok has wounded her pride and she wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong.

"Sir, I have always considered you above the ordinary goblins and their prejudices with us. You know how much I respect you." Hermione focused on her boss next, "I think…" she paused, “…you are only one who will understand me if I ask you for something.”

"What is this Jean?” Geccemp looked appalled, “You know I don’t like formality. Ask away, whatever you want to." He said generously.

Hermione took a deep calming breath. "Sir, I will work on the Malfoy vault only under one condition. You will not disclose my name, identity or any other information regarding _me_ to them. I don't wish them to know that I work here."

Geccemp's features hardened as if he had sensed the storm that was waging inside Hermione. "Do you know the Malfoys?" he asked, his narrow eyes narrowed to slits. To Hermione, this meant he was concerned.

Hermione closed her eyes and opened them, remaining silent. That simple gesture was enough for Geccemp to understand what her answer might be. He eyed Hermione's tense form gravely for a moment and said, "Very well Jean, they will know nothing about you, I give you my word.” He said and Hermione nodded, “But can I ask the reason behind such secrecy?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, sir. I am afraid I can't tell yout. Just be contented with the knowledge that we had a past encounter with disastrous outcome and I wish to see them no more." Hermione’s eyes now fixed at the box with the ‘M’ engraved on the lid. "Sorry sir but I have a cursed casket in my laboratory which needs immediate attention. Can I be excused?" She stood up from her seat.

Geccemp nodded. "Yes. Of course! But Jean, before you leave I should inform you that the Malfoys are expected to visit their vault on next Saturday which gives you roughly a week. You should get started on that vault as soon as possible."

Hermione nodded. "Yes sir. I'll start working on it from tomorrow morning. And…” She motioned him to the silver ornate box. "…I think it'll be better if you could keep the keys to their vault. I don't wish to touch them unless it's absolutely necessary."

Geccemp blinked once, conveying that he would be keeping the keys and Hermione left for the door. She was almost there when Geccemp called her.

"Jean?"

Hermione turned and saw her boss giving her a curious look, "Yes, sir?" She asked.

"Thank you." He said simply, "Thank you for saving my face in front of Gobtok. I'll keep that in mind." Geccemp gave her a genuine smile.

Hermione gave a small smile and left the office.


	5. The Rabbit and The Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The parts about Administrative districts were written from TripAdvisor and Wikipedia. I have never been to Paris but hope to visit it in future. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental.

****

 

** Chapter 5: The Rabbit and The Dragon **

**A** s a major global city, Paris had a lot going on. The city itself was politically divided into 20 _arrondissments municipaux_ or administrative districtsthat spiraled out from the center like the shape of a snail – first arrondissment being in the middle and the twentieth being on the outer edge. Paris was bisected by the famous river Seine, which housed two islands situated in the middle. They were considered the heart of the city and were crammed with some of the most popular tourist destinations.

The first island called ‘Ile de la Cité’ was the cradle of Parisian civilization. It was here that the Romans set up their camps in 52 B.C. The island hosted beautiful Middle-Age monuments such as the Notre Dame cathedral, the Sainte-Chapelle and the Conciergerie. It was a lovely place to walk around and admire the many old mansions that were still standing.

 _La Résidence de Delacour_ or the Delacour Residence, situated in first island _Ile de la Cité_ , was a gothic style, well maintained three storied building housing the Delacour family who had been living there since the fifteenth century. Monsieur Gustave Delacour and his wife Madame Apolline were the current owners of the family home. Their younger daughter Gabrielle Delacour, who has just completed her graduation from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, helped her father in running their family business – the Delacour Apothecary Chain. Their only eldest and son, Alexis Delacour, however wasn’t interested in family business. He worked at the French Ministry of Magic as the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister. The house had two other non-Delacour inhabitants too. Hermione and her son Adrian Granger, living comfortably in the Eastern wing of the building. She had a Floo fireplace, especially arranged for the post of Chief Curse Breaker, from her suite to Gringotts, which was situated in Ruelle Les Halles, the French equivalent of British Diagon Alley.

Hermione, tired from her repeated journey to the deep underground Malfoy vault, arrived home at six o clock in the evening looking forward to take her son out for the promised dinner at Le Bougainville, a Muggle restaurant at Rue de la Banque. She knew Adrian was excited about it and though she was not in a physical state to walk more than two steps altogether, she wanted the dinner to be a success.

Hermione preferred Muggle restaurants to Wizarding ones. They had more variety in the menu and also helped her to avoid the untoward mixed company the Wizarding ones served like vampires, werewolves and hags. There was another reason.

Most of the Wizarding kind showed a nauseating attitude towards the Muggles, as if they were nothing but lowly creatures. Even Hermione, who was considered the brightest witch of her age, had been called a Mudblood. But Adrian? His mother expected him to grow up in different way; she wanted him to appreciate the Muggles and their way of life. It was the only way she knew that could counteract the inborn prejudice he might inherit through his father’s blood.

Hermione removed her shoes and after rubbing her aching feet, tiptoed to their bedroom. Adrian always spent this time of the evenings in their suite, patiently waiting for his mother to return. As expected she found him there, sitting on her reading table as he drew something on a piece of drawing sheet.

Noiselessly, Hermione moved across the room and suddenly scooped him in her arms from behind.

“How is _my little rabbit_ this evening?” She said, heartily laughing as Adrian let out a loud cry of shock.

“Mama! Je déteste quand tu fais ça pour moi!” (Mum! I hate it when you do that to me!) He yelled, slamming his little fists on her bosom.

“No French with Mama, Adrian.” Hermione waggled a finger before his eyes and warned, “English is your mother tongue. Remember that.” She placed him on the table again. “And you will talk to me only in English.” She stated solemnly.

“Mais je suis né en France!” (But I was born in France!) Adrian protested, stomping on the table. “Et il est plus facile de parler.” (And it's easier to speak!) He pouted his lips.

“Now Adrian, no more arguments on that.” Hermione said dismissively, “Mama and her little rabbit will be talking in English, okay?” She said gently this time, noticing Adrian’s fallen face. “Now go and get ready. We are going out for dinner.”

“Are we going out?” Adrian finally spoke in English, his grey eyes were round and sparkling. “I thought you forgot it.”

“Mama never forgets a promise to her dear little rabbity babitty boo.” Hermione leaned to her son, “Can Mama a kiss for that?” she batted her eye lashes at him, appealing silently.

Adrian immediately flung his arms around her neck and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. Hermione smiled and kissed her son in return. This boy was the light of her otherwise empty life. “Tell me what you want to wear this evening?” She smiled sweetly and asked.

“That new one Grandma Apolline gave!” Adrian replied happily, “The yellow one with black stripes.”

Hermione already knew that her son favoured bright colours like yellow, orange and red. She could have selected that particular T-shirt for him; but she didn’t. In her opinion, kids shouldn’t be pressed to choose what their parents liked. They might be young but they were independent individuals. Besides, her own mother has taught her to express her likes and dislikes in a polite way, something that she wanted her son to learn too.

“You mean the _Hufflepuff_ one?” Hermione asked him.

For a boy who was born and reared in France, Adrian already knew about Hogwarts. Hermione has explained to him, as simply as she could, that she once in her life, she lived in England and studied in a school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The kid took it all very normally, as if everyone’s mothers lived in England and moved to France. He was also a curious little fellow and showed great interested in his mother’s old school. So Hermione bought him a Hogwarts picture book and told him small bedtime stories about the place. She, however, never breathed an air about her past or her friends, Harry and Ron, to Adrian.

“Yes, the Hufflepuff shirt.” Adrian quoted Hermione. “I like it a lot!”

“Surprise, surprise!” Hermione snorted and shook her head. She took off her own Gringotts robes, unbraided her hair and reached for the wall closet that housed all the clothes this mother and son.

“Mama, I want to ask Grandpa to buy me a Slytherin T-shirt next time.” Adrian sat down on the table again and patted thoughtfully on his chin, “Green and silver!” He clapped in excitement. “I have two Gryffindors. Grandma gave a Hufflepuff. You bought me a Ravenclaw. Now I want a Slytherin.”

Hermione froze on her track to their closet. Indeed Adrian had two Gryffindor red, a Hufflepuff yellow and another Ravenclaw blue T-shirt. He, however, didn’t have a Slytherin green.

She turned slowly to face her son and saw that his eyes were gleaming with innocent excitement. The boy was unaware of his mother’s haunting past. She couldn’t blame him for asking a green T-shirt.

“Really?” She scrunched her face in doubt, “But I think that green will not suit my handsome little man.” Hermione deliberately used the word _man_. Like most boys of his age, Adrian also liked to think that he was a man now, although he wasn’t even six. “How about an orange one? Orange is nice.”

“Orange?” Adrian considered the offer and after a moment’s silent contemplation, nodded, “Okay.” He piped.

Hermione let out a breath of relief. “Now tell Mama what you did all day.” She started for the closet again, her mood considerably elevated now.

“I ate breakfast with Grandma Apolline.” Adrian started recounting his whole day, counting the activities on his finger “Then I played with Louis. Then Aunt Gaby came from shop. She taught me some new alphabets…then I took lunch and a nap. Then I woke up and I drew.” He finished with a flourish. “Now you tell me. Did you find a new treasure today?”

Hermione decided to not answer that question. She never lied to Adrian, it was a rule that she never broke. In reality, she has spent the entire day in the Malfoy vault, curse breaking its various objects, a fact and a name that she was eager to keep Adrian away from. Instead she told him a story about Hadrid and his dragon egg and the little boy listened in wonder as she changed him into his favourite Hufflepuff T-shirt.

“Mama, can we go to Hogwarts?” Adrian asked once she was finished. “I want to meet Hagrid. I love animals. He loved animals. We’ll be good friends.”

Hermione cleared her throat audibly. It’s been six years since she last saw Hogwarts and she still missed the school bitterly. Of course she wanted to take Adrian to Hogwarts, to her family, and her friends. But doing that would be equivalent to a suicide mission.

Pushing the unpleasant thoughts at the back of her mind she smoothed Adrian’s collar. The boy was still waiting for her answer.

“Little rabbit, why don’t you go and show your new shirt to Grandma Apolline? Hm?” She offered him encouragingly, “Mama can get dressed by then.”

“Okay.” Adrian piped as he came down from table and left the room almost running. Hermione sighed sadly. She would very much have liked to answer her son’s question truthfully.

•••••

Hermione, Adrian and Gabrielle spent a good time dining at the _Le Bougainville_. The food was good and the interior was awesome. They returned home around half past nine.

Hermione decided to go to bed early that night. She was dead tired and had a long day to spend in the Malfoy vault next morning. She could do with some extra sleep. Besides, Claudia has already noticed the effects of lack of sleep on her features and Hermione did not want to draw any further attention.

Adrian on the other hand was still full of energy and excitement from the evening dinner. As Hermione changed him and herself into pajamas, he went to the table he was drawing on when Hermione arrived, retrieved a piece of paper and brought it to Hermione.

“Mama! Look.” He handed her the paper. “I drew it today.” He smiled brightly.

Hermione smiled back. She was proud of her son’s excellent ability to draw, a quality that she herself lacked. The boy had a good hand with colours and loved to amaze his mother constantly with his beautiful drawings. He was also generous to present them to the rest of the family. Apolline already had three drawings of her cooking at various positions. Gustave had five with him portrayed as reading or eating. Gabrielle has received two where she was smiling pleasantly. Alexis, got only one, and he was standing beside a man in bright robes it in. Adrian was happy to tell his uncle Alexis that it was the Minister of Magic. Hermione didn’t know if Ministers anywhere in the world wore yellow robes, except of course, if he wasn’t Xenophilius Lovegood.

She took the drawing, squeezed Adrian’s rosy cheek and looked at it. It was picturesque scenery of a man, a woman and a boy holding hands, all three standing before a fairy tale cottage.

“Tell me what you have drawn, Adrian.” she told him, frowning slightly. For some inexplicable reason she had a feeling that she already knew what he has drawn.

Adrian climbed on the bed beside Hermione and took the drawing from her hand. “This is our home.” He explained, pointing at the cottage, “This is me.” he pointed at the boy with silvery blonde curls, “This is you.” He pointed at the woman with brown curls, “And this is my papa.” he said happily, pointing at the man. Strangely he didn’t have a clear face; it was just a good outline of a man.

For Hermione, the earth suddenly stood still and the time stopped. Adrian has drawn his father! His _father_?

“Adrian, dear,” She smiled weakly, “Why did you draw a father?” She felt like crying now.

“Because I have one.” Adrian piped simply.

Hermione gulped. “Who said that?” She asked, too afraid to hear the answer. It wasn’t unexpected, though. Adrian being Hermione’s son was already a very sharp little kid and every day, he was growing up and learning new things from his surroundings. She certainly never expected him to not want to know about his father or his mother’s husband. But she had wanted to talk about it to him when he was a bit older and more mature and never like this.

“Louis told me.” Adrian replied, looking very happy with the new piece of information. “He said that everyone has a father. Like Grandpa Gustave is Aunt Gaby and Uncle Alexis’s father.” he explained as if Hermione was three year old, “That means I have a father too.” he smiled at her.

Hermione sat on her bed, her head too full and her throat too tight to speak as she looked down at her innocent son, her son whose features were just like his father: Silvery blonde hair, grey eyes, pale flawless skin, pointed chin and high cheekbones. It was the boy whom she loved more than her life while hating his father, Draco Malfoy more than anything in the world.

She looked at those innocent grey eyes. They were so much like his father’s yet so much different in terms of emotion and truthfulness. Her son Adrian might look like Draco Malfoy but in his heart he was like his mother, Hermione Granger; and she knew how much she hated lie and deceit. She was his _mother,_ his protector. She had vowed to protect him from all the evil in the world. She was not going be the one to hide the truth from her son. No. Her son will grow up knowing and living the truth about his father.

“Do you want to know about your father, Adrian?” Hermione made up her mind and asked him softly.

“Yes!” Adrian squealed excitedly, his grey eyes shining like two bright stars now.

“Okay, I’ll tell you about him.” Hermione said evenly, her heart already beating like a drum. “But let’s first brush our teeth and go to bed. Hm?” she offered him.

Adrian nodded, jumped down from the bed and almost ran into bathroom to brush his teeth. Hermione braced herself.

When they were finally in their bed, Hermione turned off the lights. She took her son in her arms and kissed him softly on the forehead. The place was dimly lit now, with moonlight seeping in through a window on their right. She could clearly see Adrian’s outline in it. He was waiting for her to start.

“Your father and I knew each other.” Hermione started cautiously, “We attended the same school, Hogwarts, you know. I was in Gryffindor and he was in… Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” Adrian gasped, “Green Slytherin?”

“Yes, little rabbit, the green Slytherin.” Hermione continued with all the courage she could muster. “He did not like me very much.”

“Why?” Adrian asked, sounding surprised. He certainly couldn’t fathom it how someone would dislike his dear Mama.

“Well,” Hermione decided to start from the very root of the problem. “…he was a pureblood and I was not. He thought that those who were not purebloods are not magical. So he… disliked me.” She waited for the next question to follow which came in the next second.

“What is a Pureblood, Mama?” Adrian asked her. Hermione knew that she would have to explain that to him one day. Why not tonight?

“A pureblood is someone whose parents are not Muggleborns or Half bloods. Like I am a Muggleborn witch. My parents, your real grandpa and grandma, are not witch or wizard. They are plain Muggles.” She explained and Adrian’s half-dark outline nodded. He got her.

“You, however, are a half blood, little rabbit. It means that one of your parents is a Muggleborn. That is me, your Mama.” She smiled at him, “But your other parent is a Pureblood. This man is your father.” Her smile vanished at the mere thought. “So, a Pureblood is someone who has purebloods parents.”

“You mean… a pureblood…”Adrian was slowly taking the new pieces of information and analyzing them, “…is someone who doesn’t have Muggle relatives. Like I have a Muggle grandpa and grandma? Right?”

Hermione was surprised at her son’s power of deduction. He was barely six but his maturity was definitely more than his age offered. After all, he was her son, she thought proudly.

“Yes. You’re right, my little rabbity boo.” Hermione planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “So, as I was saying, your father is a pureblood and I am a Muggleborn.”

“And he disliked you.” Adrian prompted, seemingly disliking the idea.

“Er…yes…” Hermione came to the hardest part of explaining how two people who disliked each other could have a baby, “Then ….um… he started supporting a bad wizard and I tried to stop that bad wizard and …. we fought and… I ended up having you.” She explained, skipping as much vital information as possible, “Then he left and got married to a pureblood witch and I came to France to raise you away from him.” She finished.

It was a strange feeling, the one that followed her brief explanation of the events that had occurred more than six years ago. Hermione had always dreaded it, the thought of talking about Draco Malfoy and how Adrian was conceived. She had thought that it would be hard, extremely difficult once Adrian started understanding the science how a man and a woman reproduced. But somehow, she felt greatly relieved. She had avoided a great problem by being simple.

Adrian remained silent long after his mother finished her story. “So, my father is not a good man?” He asked her. His tone was innocent but grave.

Hermione’s heart broke. She had always wanted her son to know that his father was a good man, as most kids thought. But telling him that would be cheating with him. She closed her eyes in dark and embraced her son more tightly.

“He’s not that bad either, Adrian. He’s just a bit… proud of his blood.” She explained, though she knew in her heart that it was far worse than that. “Don’t be sad about him. He probably does not care.” she said airily.

“Okay.” Adrian exhaled simply, “Mama did you tell him that I am his son?” he enquired innocently.

Hermione groaned internally. Adrian was asking her very complicated questions. “No, I did not tell him about you. He will not like to have a Half-blood son.” She answered truthfully.

Adrian seemed to perceive his mother’s insecurities of him. It was strange, he was barely six and he could sense these complicated emotions. “So you brought me to France? Because he is a pureblood and he dislikes me and you?” He asked, hugging her tightly.

“How clever is my little rabbity babbity boo!” Hermione kissed the little boy feeling somewhat relieved. At last her son seemed to understand her situation.

Adrian felt asleep soon after his curiosity was over and Hermione drifted into a restless slumber hugging her son tightly in her arms.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6: The Malfoy Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being made from this story.

****

 

** Chapter 6: The Malfoy Men **

**F** riday afternoon found Hermione Granger deep in the bowels of Gringotts, giving last minute touches to the Malfoy Vault. She had to curse-break at least five hundred and sixty different objects of immense value during the course of eight days that she spend here. Right now she was making a _Check Out Inventory_ for the Malfoys, an official document which listed all the possessions of a vault once they were curse free and before they were handed over to their owners.

Hermione had been looking forward to finish her assignment in the Malfoy vault since the day she started it. She could hardly concentrate on anything else except for that vault when she was at Gringotts and later when she returned home, she dreaded having to go there again the next morning. She could have dropped it and asked Geccemp to assign someone else in her stead. She was sure Geccemp would have understood her situation. But with four years worth of working experience with the Goblins she knew better to keep her personal and professional lives separate. Besides, Geccemp was relying on her skills and even boasted about her to Gobtok, the British goblin. Backing away was not an option then, not only because she liked Geccemp but also because she was a Gryffindor and _retreat_ was a word not found in their dictionary.

Even in unused state, the Malfoy vault was one of the most heavily guarded vaults in Gringotts. The French authority employed not only Dragons but also Chimaeras for its security. Hermione was escorted by two top quality professional Goblins to get past the creatures with Clankers before she entered the vault.

Hermione was never claustrophobic. It was one of the reasons behind her promotion as the Chief Curse Breaker. But every time she entered the Malfoy vault, she felt suffocated. It was like going back six years ago, when she had broken into the Lestrange vault in Gringotts Britain with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Though large and spacious, the vault had a dark aura about it which made Hermione’s skin crawl. Every single object that she Curse Broke brought a feeling of extreme repulsion instead of usual joy. She was reminded of Draco Malfoy, the last person on earth to deserve her efforts and the one who would be using them.

Thinking of Draco Malfoy brought out even darker memories in her mind, the pain, the humiliation and the hard choices that he had left her to deal with, alone. Although the vault was reopening after almost eighty years and she was positive that Draco Malfoy had never been in there, she still could feel his ominous presence in the darkness and in the stale air of that vault. He seemed to reach out for her from unknown corners, trying to assault and scare her. It was with immense courage, will power and determination that she carried out her work.

Hermione checked the inventory one last time and sweeped her eyes over the valuable contents of the vault. They were all in their proper places. She sighed in relief. Finally her work was done and she could go home with the peace of never having to return here again. She left the vault and signaled the Goblins to seal it, not giving it a single backward glance.

•••••

Draco Malfoy was lying on one of the stylish garden benches adorning the plush gardens of Château de la Grange-Bléneau and looking at the sky absentmindedly. It was Friday afternoon and his second day of visit at his Uncle Morpheus’s family home. He was in no mood to make idle chit chat with his half French cousins and thus preferred to spend his time alone in the garden.

It was a beautiful garden, almost as beautiful as the ones they had in Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy’s famous white peacocks, however, were absent here. But the fountain here was twice the size of their one with a small island designed in the middle. Carefully planted exotic plants were bearing beautiful summer flowers with exquisite smell but Draco did not care. He looked at the Apparition Point on the further corner of the garden and wished he could apparate back to his home in Wiltshire.

Draco had never dreamt that his life could take such tumultuous turns within a span of just six years. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys always lived happily ever after. But when the war ended with the famous Harry Potter finally finishing off the Dark Lord, their family had to go through numerous probations imposed by Ministry to ensure that the remaining Death eaters did not re-group to finish Lord Voldemort’s unfinished job. They lost considerable sum of their valuable gold to keep Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban and with the help of their old influences, he was placed under house arrest for the rest of his life.

Narcissa on the other hand was adamant to have Draco complete his education. But they did not have enough money to pursue his education in foreign school such as Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, he was sent to Hogwarts again under the watchful eyes of the Ministry. Narcissa had other plans for him too and soon he came to know that his mother was looking for a suitable bride for him – someone who was from a non Death Eater Pureblood family. It was then that Astoria Greengrass was introduced to him, a sixth year Ravenclaw, two years younger than he.

Draco had no wish to get betrothed so early in his life but his parents insisted that the union would bring back some of their old influences back. Astoria’s father, Ebenezer Greengrass being the new Head of the Magical Law Enforcement at the ministry and her mother being an old friend of Narcissa and believer of pureblood supremacy, it was just the family they should be tied to, at this point. Draco had no choice but to give his outward consent and he married Astoria against his wish on December 1998, just a week after Astoria came of age.  

Draco soon found out that he did not regret their marriage, for he had never come across any woman like Astoria in his life. She was reasonably pretty, introvert and preferred reading over nonsense girly gossips. She even knitted him a Green muffler, something even his mother never did for him, and gave it as his wedding gift. Slowly she became Draco’s friend and partner in his post-war quiet life in Hogwarts and together they studied in the library, ate in the Great Hall and spent their free time riding on their broomsticks in the Quidditch pitch. Draco did not even realize when he had fallen deeply in love with his young but intelligent wife.

In the summer following Astoria’s sixth year and Draco’s graduation from Hogwarts they went to Italy for their honeymoon. There their first child was conceived. Astoria was extremely shy about it, something that made Draco even happier when he heard the news. Lucius and Narcissa were beside themselves on the prospect of having a new heir in the family and advised Astoria to leave Hogwarts and remain at the Manor during her pregnancy. But Draco who knew very how much Astoria’s education meant for her, protested and personally made sure she received home schooling for her upcoming N.E.W.Ts.

The day their son was born was the happiest day of Draco’s life. He named him Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Astoria upon completing her N.E.W.Ts successfully gave her full attention to their small family. Life was as good as it could be for another year until the fate chose to strike Draco again. Lucius, like his father, died from Dragon Pox at the age of forty four and Scorpius followed him ten monthes later. It kind of took away the light of their lives.

Life after Lucius and Scorpius’s untimely demises was never the same for Draco and his remaining family. Astoria tried to conceive again but never reached her term as the babies died at the sixth month of pregnancy. Her last attempt claimed her own life leaving Draco a lone widower.

Draco had never thought he could mourn over someone’s death so deeply until he was faced with it. Life without Astoria and Scorpius held no meaning for him and he soon started spending most of his day by their graves in their family graveyard. Narcissa, observing her son’s obsession for their graves and constantly deteriorating health, decided to take matters into her hands and contacted their long forgotten relative, the family of Morpheus Malfoy in France. She wrote them a letter, asking if she could visit them over the summer. Audré Chombrun Malfoy, Morpheus Malfoy’s widower, responded positively. Narcissa then arranged for their visit and sent a reluctant Draco to Gringotts to reopen the Malfoy vault in its French branch. Thus within a week of his mother’s decision to visit their relatives in France, Draco was lying on the Château’s garden bench, twisting his wedding band and looking at the sky absentmindedly.

•••••

Hermione dusted her robes as she came out from her special Floo fireplace and cast a Freshening Charm before she made for the kitchens. Fridays were baking days at Delacour’s and she loved to spend the time with Apolline and Gabrielle, helping them to bake cakes and cookies for the coming week. Besides Adrian was sure to there, he loved practicing his drawing skills on Apolline’s freshly baked cookies.

In the downstairs kitchen, Apolline and Gabrielle were preparing to bake a large Pound cake. Hermione stood by the threshold. There he was, Adrian, sitting on the kitchen counter and his hands dirty with chocolate glaze which he licked more than he spread on top of the cookies.

Hermione smiled. She knew just the thing to annoy him. In fact she loved annoying someone who could look so adorable.

Apolline looked up from beating the eggs and Hermione placed a firm finger before her lips, silently asking her to not make a sound. Adrian was still oblivious that his mother has returned. Biting her lips, Hermione tiptoed to her son and looked over his shoulder. The little boy’s grey eyes were focused on the large stack of cookies that laid before him. He took a cookie, dipped his small spoon in the glaze and brushed some glaze on it. Then using a blue icing Apolline had prepared earlier, he piped a big flower on it. Hermione was confused now. Who looked more tempting? Her son, his pale cheeks smeared with some chocolate sauce or the cookie with a shining chocolate glaze and big blue flower on it? She decided for the latter.

Hermione, like an excellent bird of prey, snatched the cookie from Adrian’s grasp.

“Mama!” Adrian squealed and turned to her. “What are you doing?” He demanded, looking exactly like her mother did when a good book was snatched from her.

“I am eating a cookie.” Hermione shrugged airily, “Any problems?”

“They are mine!” Adrian protested, shifting his body before the large pile he had glazed, “I glazed them!”

“Really?” Hermione ogled and effortlessly seized another fistful, which she started to shove in her mouth, “I thought they are my son Adrian’s.”

“I am Adrian!” the little boy looked positively alarmed by his mother’s odd behaviour. “Mama what happened to you?”

“What happened to me?” Hermione asked herself sadly, “Mama doesn’t know. Maybe she overworked today. Can she have a kiss from her son? It might help her.”

The helpless little boy looked at his grandma and aunt for support but Apolline and Gabrielle were enjoying the little drama in their kitchen.

“I think you should give Mama a kiss and see what happens.” Apolline was on Hermione’s side. “Maybe she is tired and lost her memories.” Gabrielle nodded in support.

“No!” Adrian, positively shocked now, flung his arms around Hermione’s neck and planted a kiss her on her cheek. He smeared some chocolate there. Hermione closed her eyes and feigned recovering her memories like Sleeping Beauty did.

“Oh my Merlin! Look who is here?” She exclaimed dramatically and brushed her cheek over his little nose, smearing some chocolate glaze on it. “My little rabbitty babbity boo!”

Adrian squealed “Mama!” again, realizing that he had been tricked by the ladies.

The evening passed well. Hermione, Apolline, Gabrielle and the small _gentleman_ spent it baking cakes and laughing at each other’s jokes. Gabrielle mocked some of her funny customers for them and by the time they finally finished their baking, Hermione felt effects of the Malfoy vault washing away from her tired body.

Later, she drew Adrian a bath and scented it with lavender bubbles. Adrian, unlike most boys of his age, liked water and he almost jumped into the foams, splashing Hermione with soap water. He started blowing bubbles and prodding them. Meanwhile Hermione scrubbed her son.

“Mama!” He squealed as she tickled him in his stomach.

“What is it, little rabbit?” Hermione asked innocently.

“Stop tickling me!” He demanded.

“Okay.” She said and tickled him again.

“Mama, please!” Adrian pleaded now, grabbing her hands underwater, “Stop it! I need to ask you something.” he said urgently.

“Very well. Ask Mama.” Hermione bade him.

“Mama, what’s a marriage…anni…versary?” He stammered, trying to remember the new and difficult word.

Hermione stopped scrubbing her son. “Where did you hear that?” she asked instead, sharply.

“You know Pierre, Mama?” Adrian asked, his eyes were round and Hermione nodded. Pierre was a boy a few years older than her son and he lived with his family in a big mansion in their neighbourhood. “He said it’s his parents’ marriage anni…versary tomorrow. But I didn’t understand what he said. So I asked you.”

Hermione could not bring herself to snap at her innocent son.

“A marriage anniversary is a day when a couple celebrates their marriage.” She replied, trying to be as simple as it was possible. “Like the day Grandpa Gustave and Grandma Apolline throws a big party and invites everyone, remember that?” She asked and Adrian nodded in response. “That’s a marriage anniversary.”

“Oh that!” Adrian nodded knowingly, “It’s a happy day.” He said cheerfully.

“Yes, it’s a happy day.” Hermione felt relieved that the topic was safely dealt with.

“When is your marriage anniversary, Mama?” Adrian asked suddenly and Hermione froze in the middle of pouring water on his head.

She bit her lips. Should she lie? Tell him that she was married to Adrian’s so called _father_? No. Adrian deserved to know the truth about his mother as much as it was possible.

“Mama does not have a marriage anniversary, Adrian.” She replied, smiling kindly.

“Why not?” Adrian asked, scowling.

“Well because your father got married to pureblood witch. I told you. Remember?” Hermione said and poured some water over his head. “He does not like Muggleborns or half-bloods.”

Adrian however didn’t look unhappy that his alleged father left his mother and married a pureblood witch. “Oh. I understand now.” He said, “He likes the purebloods. It’s alright. We are happy without him. I love you and you love me.” He stated simply.

“Yes.” Hermione sighed in relief, “I love you and you love me. We have each other. We don’t need purebloods like him.” She Summoned a towel. “Now get out of water and let me dry you.”

The rest of the evening, to Hermione’s immense relief, passed without further mention of the topic of Adrian’s father. They dined with the Delacours and afterwards she settled down with Adrian in their bed, clutching a story book. He soon drifted to a peaceful sleep and Hermione was left watching his sleeping form, contemplating for the first time in her life, what that detested man might be doing now.

•••••

It was one o’ clock in the morning and Draco Malfoy was sitting on a chair in his balcony. He was holding a green muffler in his pale elegant hands and feeling it in between his fingers.

“Astoria! Scorpius!” He sighed sadly and looked up at the night sky. They were there somewhere, among the stars, watching him.

Someone knocked on his door and Draco looked at it, irritated. Couldn’t his mother just leave him alone for a while? He was no kid.

Draco was seriously considering slamming the door on his mother’s face should she ask him to go to bed. He was not going to bed. Not this nor any other night. He didn’t tell her anything when she forcibly brought him to visit his French cousins. But he wasn’t taking this nonsense anymore. He opened the door fully expecting to see Narcissa, her hands on her hips, only to find that his aunt Audré was standing there. She was on her nightclothes.

“Aunt?” Draco was distracted. What was she doing here at this hour of night?

Audré gave him a gentle smile. “Sorry to disturb you, nephew, but do you have a Headache Potion or something?” She rubbed on her forehead, “I am having a terrible headache.”

Draco wanted to tell Audré to go and ask her own children and not to disturb him in the middle of a night for something as trivial as a Headache Potion.

“Mine just finished.” Audré it seemed somehow understood his unuttered words, “My children don’t use it. So I thought I could ask you to see if you have any.”

Great idea! Draco thought sarcastically. He did have a Headache Potion. He carried his own potion kit wherever he went but was not in a mood of sharing its contents. But Audré was his host and it was rude to say no to her especially when she was treating them so nicely.

“Yeah. Sure. Please come in.” He said, motioning her to come inside.

“I hope I did not disturb your sleep.” Audré said as she entered his suite.

“Not at all.” Draco said as he went to fetch his Potions Kit. The earlier this woman took her potion and left, the better. Meanwhile Audré settled herself in an armchair by the fireplace, clutching her head.

Draco opened his Potions Kit and took out the vial of Headache Potion. He poured an ample amount in a goblet and brought it to Audré.

“Here.” He handed it to his aunt who downed it in one go and placed the empty goblet on the table.  She showed no signs of leaving so early.

Not knowing whether to ask her to leave, Draco took the other seat across his aunt and fixed his eyes on the floor.

They remained silent for some time. Then Audré spoke suddenly.

“Why are you fully dressed, Draco?” She seemed to notice Draco’s attire which he hasn’t bothered to change. “Didn’t you go to bed?

Draco looked up at his aunt. Audré was looking expectedly at him. Somehow, he couldn’t snap at her.

“I can’t sleep alone.” He replied, fidgeting with the handle of his armchair.

“Oh!” Was Audré’s curt response, “By the way, this Headache Potion is quite good. I am feeling better now. Did you buy it or brew it yourself?”

“I don’t usually use store bought Potions.” Draco replied, “They have less shelf life. I prefer to brew mine.”

“Really?” Audré looked impressed, “It’s so nice. Can you do me a favour and brew a batch for me too?”

“Ah? Yes. Why not?” Draco didn’t know how to avoid that request. “It’s nothing very hard, really and… ah… it will be a privilege.” He added.

“Thank you” Audré said, smiling as she stood up, “Well now that I am feeling good, I guess I should go to bed.”

Draco stood up too. He was relieved. “Well, if you are sure.” He said.

Audré gave him a curious look and nodded, “Well, nephew, there is another thing I would like to ask too, if you don’t mind, of course.” She said carefully.

Draco gritted his teeth but tried to appear polite. Why wasn’t this woman leaving? “Of course, Aunt Audré.” He said.

Audré gave Draco a charming smile. “I hope my British nephew will not mind if his French aunt touches him.”

Draco considered the request and found no way to reject it. “Not at all.” he said and extended his right hand to her.

Audré smiled widely and came closer. “No dear, not there.” She said. Draco was transfixed. What did Audré mean by _not there_?

The answer came minutes later when Audré moved behind Draco, placed her hands on his shoulders and gestured him to sit. Draco complied not knowing what was happening and suddenly found her hands in his hair.

“Here.” She said and started rubbing his scalp gently. Draco felt his body go numb. His eyes closed themselves on their own accord and as Audré massaged his head in silence, without even realizing it, Draco slumped against his sofa.

“Your hair reminds me of Morpheus’s one. They were straight and fine, just like yours.” He heard her saying, “Do you know your uncle went to see you when you were born? It’s a tradition among Malfoys to gift their firstborn rare objects. He took Essence of Pearlflower for you. Drinking it with mother’s milk makes the baby strong as it grows up.”

“I did not know that.” Draco managed to respond. “Father never mentioned it.” He was feeling drowsy now.

Audré must have felt that too because she went silent.

The last thing Draco remembered hearing before he finally fell asleep, was his aunt’s voice saying gently into his hair:

_“Sleep, Precious baby, sweetly sleep… I’ll rock you… I’ll rock you... I’ll rock you…”_

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7: Just a Door Away...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The article on Les Halles was obtained from Wikipedia.  
> Those who know France well enough also know that Saint Joan of Arc was a French lady.  
> Details of Adrian’s new school are coming in coming chapters. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this writing.

                                                                                          

 

** Chapter 7: Just a Door Away… **

**W** eekend breakfasts were enjoyable affairs at the Delacours. On the other days of the week, most members would take a hurried breakfast and leave for his or her work. Saturday and Sundays were, therefore, a time for family. Every Delacour, including Hermione and her son, who were half-Delacours by now, attended it. Breakfast table would host more items than usual. Monsieur Gustave Delacour, who was an avid fan of his wife’s cooking would whole heartedly praise each and every item, Gabrielle would read Bill and Fleur’s letters from England, Alexis would discuss some inside issues of the Ministry and Hermione would fight with her son over his half-empty milk glass. There were no exceptions to it. Ever.

“You are not finished, Adrian.” Hermione pushed the half-empty glass of milk towards him and indicated him to be done with it. The boy, however, eyed it with most reluctance.

“I don’t like the flavour.” He protested, looking sullen.

Hermione sighed internally. Kids! Why was it always so difficult to have them finish their glasses of milks? She wondered how Apolline managed to do it on the other days of the week. “It is strawberry flavoured milk, Adrian. You like strawberries. Don’t you?” She tried again, trying to encourage his appetite.

“I like strawberries.” Her son admitted, “But I don’t like milk. They make the strawberries boring.” He scowled at the milk, as if it was a punishable offence that the milk was making his favourite strawberries taste so boring.

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. This kid always had all kinds of weird explanations ready at hand. Milk made the strawberries boring! As if it was professor Binns who made History of Magic lecture classes boring! But she was his mother too and wasn’t going to be defeated so easily.

“Really? Then I think I should flavour the milk with _Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans_ next time. You’ll end up having a Bogey or an ear-wax flavoured milk.” She said, and the boy chortled. “Now don’t argue with Mama and finish your milk or she will not tell you about the big surprise she is planning.” Hermione said dismissively.

“Big surprise?” Adrian’s grey eyes were as big as the word ‘big’, “What big surprise?”

Hermione resolutely pointed at the glass, reminding him her condition. “I am not uttering a single word unless that glass is empty, Adrian.” She said sternly.

Adrian pouted his pink lips one last time and reached for his glass. He pinched his nose, closed his eyes and downed the contents in one go, as if it was not milk but a goblet of Skelegro. He then put down the empty glass before Hermione and wiped his mouth, making a gagging noise.

Hermione shook her head in despair. What was she going to do with this boy?

“I am done. Now tell me.” Adrian demanded, lifting his small pointed chin at his mother.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked at the other members on the breakfast table. Gabrielle was discussing Fleur’s recent letter with Apolline and Gustave was remarking on how the new Ministry bill would affect his business. “Excuse me, everyone.” She said.

Apolline and Gabrielle stopped talking. Alexis looked up from the newspaper while Gustave’s teacup stopped on its way to his lips.

Hermione smiled at them. The Delacours were like her own family now, Apolline was her mother and Gustave her father. Gabrielle, though she didn’t like her in the beginning for throwing herself on Harry, wasn’t like she had taken her for. In six years, Fleur’s younger sister had grown up to be a wonderful lady. And Alexis was kind of a man she could rely on; he was sensible and sensitive, two important qualities that were missing in most men. “I was thinking about taking Adrian, Gabrielle, Eva and Edmound to Belgium this summer. How does it sound?” She asked for their opinion.

Adrian was the first person to respond to her query, though not verbally. He gave loud squeal of ‘I love you, Mama!’ and gave Hermione a crushing hug with two big kisses as a bonus. She had expected the boy to react so; he had been asking her for ages for a holiday outside France. His friend Gina’s parents always took her to different countries for summer holidays, something that he kept telling her almost every day. 

“It’s a very good idea.” Monsieur Delacour nodded and looked at his wife for final approval. It was well known among the Delacours that Gustave Delacour never took a decision without Apolline’s prior sanction.  

“I think so too.” Apolline agreed with her husband.

Hermione looked at Alexis and Gabrielle. They were both silent, Gabrielle shocked and Alexis, contemplative. “I wanted to take Alexis as well but I don’t know if he can manage two weeks from his busy schedule.” She looked apologetic.

Alexis shook his head and smiled at her, conveying he wasn’t offended at all. “Thanks for the offer, Jean. I really would love to go but the Minister will be presenting several new bills before the governing body next week and it’s a lot of work.”

Hermione nodded, conveying that she understood his situation. “Gabrielle?” she turned her attention to the last person silent on the table and raised an eyebrow enquiringly. The quarter-Veela was still at a loss of words. Hermione wondered if she had other plans for the summer.

“That… will be…great.” Gabrielle finally broke the silence, turning crimson for some unknown reason. “I haven’t been outside France since Fleur’s marriage. It’ll be so much fun.” She was almost beaming.

So that was settled. Hermione, her son, friends and Gabrielle would be going to Belgium this summer, away from the Malfoys when they arrived at France and took charge of their damned vault, the main reason behind Hermione’s sudden decision to go to a holiday outside France. She finished her breakfast and rubbed her hands purposefully. Yay! She was going to a holiday! “I must arrange for some Muggle train tickets. The earlier it is, the better.” Her declaration made Adrian do a small somersault in his chair.

“Muggle train?” Apolline frowned at her selection of transportation.

“Yes, mother, Muggle train.” Hermione affirmed, knowing well that wizards preferred to take International Portkey for long distance journeys. “I’d have taken a Portkey but Adrian is just five and a half. He’s too young for a Portkey. Besides, the journey by train itself is an enjoyment.”

“I think Jean is right.” Alexis said, “Train journey is a fun itself and Adrian will be able to see how Muggles travel from place to place. Won’t you, little nephew?”  

“I love trains.” Adrian declared happily. He was grinning from ear to ear, thinking he would riding a train for the first time in his life. “Gina never rode on a train. I can tell her and Louis that my Mama took me to a holiday on a train.” He looked delighted by the prospect. Hermione had noticed that her son liked to talk about his mother before his best friends, Louis and Gina. “Mama, when are going?” he piped happily.

“As soon as I talk to my boss and take a few weeks leave.” Hermione replied, confident that her goblin boss, Geccemp would be approving it. “We can decide the date later, okay, Mama’s love?”

“Okay.” Adrian tilted his curl adorned head and feeling a rush of tender affection for him, Hermione kissed her son.

“Now, Adrian no more tantrum about going to Gringotts with Mama. Okay?” She warned him softly and he nodded. It seemed that the idea of a summer holiday in Belgium has cleared all other thoughts from his innocent mind.

Gustave, meanwhile, was watching their interaction with affection. “Jean, why don’t you enroll Adrian to a school?” He offered her. “If he has his own social life, he won’t miss his as he does now.”

Truth be told, Hermione had been giving it a thought for quite some time. The French, as a nation, had good education system with numerous kindergartens, primary schools and schools for their young citizens. Many of Adrian’s Muggle neighbour kids already went there and had she wanted she could have enrolled her son with them too. But it had a problem.

Adrian was five and half now, almost a year and a half away from showing his first magic. Age seven was considered the most consistent age when most magical children manifested their first magic. Hermione had shown hers when she was only four. Adrian still hasn’t shown any significant magic but that didn’t mean he was a squib. Hermione knew her son had magic in him, he could show it any moment, and she, as a mother, wanted him out of any Muggle’s reach when that happened. She still hasn’t forgotten what had happened to Ariana Dumbledore; some Muggle boys had attacked her, seeing her doing magic which she couldn’t control at that time. She was never the same again and died eventually. A shiver went down Hermione’s spine at the thought.

“Thanks father for the suggestion.” She smiled and tried to get rid of the unpleasant thought. Adrian would be just fine. She was his mother, his father and his protector. Nothing was going to happen to her son. “I think my little rabbit is now old enough to go out and make new friends, learn new things.” She said and Adrian nodded energetically. He loved the idea of being a grown-up man. “But I can’t enroll him with Muggles. He can show magic any time. What if other kids misinterpret it and harm him? I know a case where a girl was attacked by some Muggle boys.”

Adrian, who was listening to the conversation, gave his mother a surprised look. “Mama, why should they harm me if I show magic? It’s not a bad thing. My Mama is a witch and I am a wizard.” he piped innocently.

“Sometimes, people do things that they don’t understand can harm others.” Hermione replied, trying to explain it as simply as she could. “We should avoid them as much as we can.”

“That’s the reason,” Gustave exchanged smug looks with his wife, “Apolline and I are thinking of enrolling Adrian to St. Joan’s Institute for Magical Children. It’s the only school there is for our young magical citizens. The Ministry runs it. They have a nursery for kids who are yet to show magic and for the kids who have shown it, they have a primary school. Even kids who are considered squibs by their families are enrolled and given occupational therapy there. Most of these kids manifest magic within a year of enrollment. Their Headmistress, Sorceress Marianne, is considered a pioneer in the field of treating squibs.”

“That’s wonderful!” Hermione was impressed to learn that the French Ministry had a special school for their magical kids where they could safely practice their inborn powers. The British, as far as she knew, didn’t have such schools and home tutored their magical kids. “But I have question. It seems like in France, all kids attend St. Joan’s. But what about Muggleborns? They don’t know that they are magical until someone explains it to them.” she recalled hers when Professor McGonagall had turned up before their doorstep and explained to her parents that their daughter was a witch. “Do they attend St. Joan’s too? Or do they just go to primary school like I did?”

Alexis was the one who replied this time.

“ _Every_ magical kid in France goes to St. Joan’s, Jean, whether they are purebloods, half-bloods or Muggleborns. The Department of Education for Magical Population looks over that matter. They have a way to detect it when a witch or wizard is born in a Muggle family, same as they do, if I am not wrong, in Hogwarts.”

“I see.” Hermione nodded, intrigued by the fascinating idea that magic could detect someone’s birth from distance. It was like Trace which broke at seventeen.

“St Joan’s is quite near to our home, just beside the Notre dame cathedral.” Apolline added with a smile. “If you drop him there in the mornings, Jean, I can easily go and bring him when his school finishes at midday. They also supply kids with a good midday meal.” She was very serious whenever it came to diet.

Hermione couldn’t be more relieved. “I don’t think there can be a better place for Adrian.” She made up her mind. Adrian would be going to St. Joan’s from the coming term. Satisfied that everything went well till now, she checked the clock and found its hands pointing at figures ten and twelve respectively.

“Merlin!” she gasped and left the table in a hurry, “I am getting late! If we want to spend our summer in Belgium, I have to apply for leave today.”

Hermione kissed Adrian and waved them goodbye. She left hurriedly to get dressed, feeling confident to win her leave from the sternest of employers, Goblins.

•••••

Draco was drifting into a peaceful sleep and listening to the gentle murmur, ‘I’ll rock you. I’ll rock you. I’ll rock you’. It was a pleasant tune, like a lullaby and Draco couldn’t deny that he liked it, even in his current most miserable state.  

“Good Morning, dear son.” a female voice spoke and the wave of murmur broke. Draco opened his grey eyes and blinked several times in the bright sunlit room. His mother was looking down at him.

“Good Morning, mother.” He said and tried to shift and make some place for her to sit. Instead He collided with an arm of a couch. So he was sleeping in the armchair he had occupied the previous night? Yawning, he stretched his lean body and sat up.

“You slept.” Narcissa took the seat Audré had taken the previous night and remarked.

“What a pleasant surprise!” Draco said in a bored voice.  

“I hope you didn’t take that Dreamless Sleep Potion, Draco.” Narcissa enquired cautiously.

“I did not.” Draco replied curtly.

“You are already getting addicted to it, Draco, dear.” Narcissa pressed the point.

Draco tilted his head and looked at her. He has always loved his mother. But somehow, he just couldn’t take her over eagerness to control his life these days. Maybe it was his fault, maybe it wasn’t his. Draco didn’t know and nor did he care. Who cared for a life that had no meaning? Breathing was a burden these days. Why didn’t Astoria take him with her when she died?

“Mother, I _did not_ take Dreamless Sleep last night.” He said firmly.

Narcissa seemed not to want to disturb his peace at the moment. “Thank you, Draco.” she said smiling sweetly. “Here is something I wanted to give you.” She showed him a letter.

Draco eyed it wondering whether this was a marriage proposal from a French pureblood family. He knew his mother would start looking for a suitable bride for him but he hadn’t expected her to start so soon. He almost snatched the envelope from her hand, with all intentions to crumple and throw it in the fire when a large Gringotts emblem came into view. So it was a letter from Gringotts?

“About time.” he remarked absent-mindedly and opened the letter.

Narcissa waited till Draco finished the letter; it informed him that the Malfoy vault has been curse broken and was now open for them to enter anytime they liked. “It came by the morning post. I am running out of the cash I had brought with me. Do you think you can you visit Gringotts today and check our vaults?” She asked him.

Draco folded the letter neatly and placed it on the table. “I guess I can.” He stood up and stretched himself again. It was getting boring here, with his mother hovering over his head like a stubborn poltergeist. “Is the breakfast over?” he checked the clock which showed it was past nine o’ clock in the morning.

“No.” Narcissa replied, watching her son yawn and do a bit of free hand exercise, “Your aunt and cousins were reading newspapers when I left them on table.” she said and stood up.

“See you in a bit.” Draco rubbed his neck and winced. He had fallen asleep in a couch and now his neck was aching horribly. Wondering whether a hot bath would rejuvenate him, he left for the bathroom, without a backward glance at Narcissa.

Audré was pouring herself some green tea when Draco entered the Château dining room looking well rested and fresh. He was wearing his usual black mourning attire but they were, as it should be for a Malfoy, clean and impeccably tailored.

“Good Morning, dear nephew.” Audré greeted him as soon as he drew a chair and settled beside his mother.

“Good Morning, aunt Audré.” Draco greeted back. He wasn’t much into these formal greetings but they were in France now and he barely knew his cousins, who were giving him curious looks, especially the female one, Lillian. Draco hated it when people stared at him. He has had his fair share of staring when he had to go to Hogwarts after the Dark Lord was defeated and Harry Potter won. People would whisper behind their hands whenever he passed them, calling him a Young Death Eater. Astoria had been such a respite at that time! And now? She was gone, leaving him alone. Draco sighed, pushed those unpleasant thoughts on the back of his head and concentrated on his breakfast. For some reason, he was quite hungry this morning. It was strange; he didn’t have much appetite since Astoria died.

For a few minutes, everything was quiet except for the occasional sounds of silverware striking bone china. Then Julian cleared his throat.

“Aunt Narcissa tells me that you want to visit your vault, Draco.”  He said casually, trying to start a conversation.

Draco didn’t look up from his plate and nodded instead. “I did wish that.” He was hardly interested in engaging in any kind of conversation.

“Well…” it seemed that Julian was trying hard not to sound very imposing, “…then we can go together. I, too, have some personal business there.”

“That will be very nice indeed.” Draco remarked dryly.

The breakfast progressed in silence once again and when they finished their eating, the remaining food vanished, leaving the plates shiny and clean just like it did in Hogwarts.

“How many elves do you own, Audré?” Narcissa enquired from her sister-in-law. She seemed impressed by the overall high standards of her household.

Audré smiled pleasantly, “Not as much as you own at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa dear; only fifteen.”

Narcissa snorted, “Fifteen elves are not _only_ , Audré dear.”

While the ladies continued talking, the men folk, Julian and Draco, left for their visit to Gringotts. Once they were in the Apparition Point, Julian offered Draco his arm and who took it without any protest. Together, they apparated away.

Seconds later, they appeared in a quiet alleyway beside a crowded street. Draco looked around and saw it was packed with Muggles.

“This place is called Les Halles.” Julian informed him as Draco dropped his hand. “It was once the central market of Paris, where wholesale fresh food products were sold. But the large central wholesale marketplace was demolished in 1971 and replaced with an underground modern shopping center, called the  _Forum des Halles_.” He motioned Draco to follow him out of alley, “Our destination is the underground station  _Châtelet-Les-Halles_. It is one of the central hubs of Paris's express commuter rail system and the portal to Wizarding marketplace, _Ruelle Les Halles._ ”

Draco followed his cousin silently. He wasn’t interested in Muggle Paris or any Paris, on that matter. They made their way through the Muggles who were enjoying their shopping on a sunny Saturday morning. Julian brought him to an underground rail station which was also, to his dismay, packed with Muggles.

“Looks like all the Muggles of Paris have turned up here.” Draco commented, wondering when this blasted business would be over. He hated Muggles or any contacts with them.

“Not all are Muggles, cousin.” Julian smiled mysteriously. “Some of them are like us, on Muggle clothes, visiting the Les Halles on the weekends. Here, come this way.” He beckoned Draco to a small booth with a triangular sign on top.

“This is what Muggles call an ATM booth except for it’s _not_ a Muggle booth.” Julian opened the door for Draco who stepped into the small room. Inside he found a machine with buttons numbered from zero to nine and a black screen.

“We won’t be needing that one. It is just for display.” Julian winked as he took out his wand and drew a large circle on the opposite wall. The portion of the wall inside the imaginary circle vanished and a larger circular wooden door with a brass knob appeared. Julian grabbed the knob and opened the door.

Draco hadn’t intended it but he gasped. On the other side of the door ran a wide alleyway, with eccentric shops and people dressed in robes of different colours, browsing them.

“Welcome, Draco, to Ruelle Les Halles.” Julian announced happily.

The French equivalent of Diagon Alley was more cheerful looking than its British counterpart, Draco had to admit that. He walked behind Julian, looking around the shop signs written in French and soon discovered it was far more interesting than it appeared. There were all kinds of shops: groceries, chocolates, apothecaries, clothing lines, dress shops, Quidditch supplies, bookshops, and kid’s toyshop. His eyes lingered on it for a moment, remembering what Scorpius’s favourite toy had been: a toy snake. Soon they reached a building which looked exactly like its sister in Britain.

“Gringotts.” Draco whispered, eyeing the eccentric looking white building. “The British one also has the same design.”

“Does it? That’s fascinating.” Julian commented cheerfully. He seemed to have noticed that Draco was taking interest in his surroundings.

The inside décor, Draco noticed, was not very different from the British Gringotts. Rows and rows of goblins were seated behind high tables as they weighed valuable stones and counted coins. Julian took Draco straight to an important looking Goblin who stood up from his seat and greeted them.

“Ah, Monsieur Malfoy!” He addressed Julian specifically, “Bonjour.”

“Bonjour, Greepak.” Julian nodded, calling the goblin by his name. “This is my cousin, Draco. He is my uncle Lucius’s son. He is here to enter his vault.”

“Oh, yes! Chief Goblin Geccemp informed me this morning to expect him.” Greepak took out a long roll of sealed parchment from beneath his desk and held it out for Draco. “Here is your Inventory, Monsieur Draco Malfoy.”

Draco took the parchment and broke the seal. He knew that these kinds of seals would not break unless they were at the hands of their rightful owners. He examined the list and found it extremely well-written compared to the list British Gringotts usually provided him.

“The list is satisfactory.” He commented idly. “The keys?” He enquired to the Goblin.

“Here they are, Monsieur.” Greepak passed him the ornate box he had handed to Gobtok ten days ago.

“Draco, would you mind if I make a quick visit to Geccemp, the Chief Goblin?” Julian asked.

“Not at all.” Draco pocketed his key and inventory list.

“Greepak, can you take us to Geccemp?” Julian asked the goblin who nodded.

“Very well, Monsieur.” Greepak the goblin, left his seat and ushered them to a pair of polished wooden door. “If you would follow me, please.”

Draco and Julian followed the goblin out to a marbled archway and down several flights of stairs before they reached a large intricately pattered silver door. The goblin asked them to make themselves comfortable in the velvet covered seats and he excused himself before entering his boss’s office.

He came out after a minute. “Chief Goblin Geccemp sends his sincere apologies and asks the gentlemen to wait a moment while he finishes an important conversation with our Chief Curse Breaker.” the Goblin informed them with a smile and left.


	8. Chapter 8: Submission and Submersion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being made from this story.

** **

 

** Chapter 8: Submission and Submersion. **

**G** eccemp was in his usual good mood when Hermione found him in his office around ten thirty in the morning. He hummed gently in a Goblin language as he hand-engraved the handle of a knife with a hammer and chisel in his workshop which was adjacent to the office.

Hermione patted her robes and stood expectedly by an arm chair, waiting for Geccemp to notice her presence. The goblin was working in rapt attention and she did not wish to break his concentration. Her patience paid up when Geccemp looked up from his work, smiling.

“Ah! Jean!” He cried out, greeting her like an old friend, “When did you come?” He asked brightly.

Hermione suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. The eccentric Goblin, as she knew it, loved to play very innocent tricks with his employees. She was sure he had heard her entering his office and he was, now, feigning otherwise. “Just now.” She replied to his query casually.

Nodding, Geccemp motioned Hermione to take a seat and left the tools on his workbench. He then wiped his hands on a piece of greasy cloth and carefully placing the knife he had been working on inside a box, brought it to Hermione.

“How does it look?” he asked, a spark in his beady eyes.

Hermione carefully took the box from Geccemp’s long-fingered hands. The knife in the box had a six-inches long steel blade with beveled edges and a handle with intricate designs. Hermione stared at it, marveled by its beauty. Truly! Geccemp’s goblin hands could bring out life in the most simplest of the things.

“Marvelous!” Hermione whispered.

Geccemp beamed at her, satisfied by the one-word complement. “It is one of the twelve throwing knives that I am crafting for Monsieur Dufort.” he said and leaving the box in her hand, went to his seat behind the wide desk. “But I don’t think you visited my office on a Saturday morning as this to admire my handiwork, Jean.” he said skeptically. “What is it?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hermione reached inside her robe and took out a roll of parchment. “I came to apply for a leave, sir.” she said, offering the roll to her boss. “I wish to take my son and family to a holiday this summer.”

“Holiday?” Geccemp snorted, “I had thought that you don’t know what a holiday is!” he commented, looking amused, “Never took one since you joined here!” He unrolled her parchment, read it silently, dipped his quill in the ink and signed without another question.

“Here! Granted! ” Geccemp returned the application to Hermione, “Enjoy your holiday!”He said, smiling.

“Merci, sir.” Hermione thanked his boss and pocketed her application. Now the only work left was sending it to the Administrative Division who would be notifying the other goblins and Curse Breakers that the Chief Curse Breaker would be on a two week’s leave.

“So, Jean? Are you staying in France or going abroad?” Geccemp asked, placing the tips of his fingers together.

Hermione smiled, “I am planning to visit Belgium, sir. Gringotts, Belgium is organizing a workshop on Cursed Belgian Diamonds. It was on the last issue of ‘ _The Curse Breaker’s Newsletter’_. I think it is a once in a lifetime opportunity to actually see and learn how to undo those curses that claimed so many lives.” Her eyes sparkled on the prospect of learning new things, “Like the famous ‘ _Le bleu de France’_ or what the Muggles call _Hope Diamond_.”

“You know what, Jean?” Geccemp shook his head, half-exasperated and half-amused. “That is _exactly_ why _you_ are our Chief Curse Breaker and _nobody_ else.” He commented, snorting audibly. “She is going to a holidayfor the _first_ time in _four_ years and she is after _cursed diamonds_!” he threw his hands in the air, as if wondering what to do with his geek Chief Curse Breaker.

Hermione laughed out loud; with his reaction, Geccemp was reminding her of Ron’s incredulous looks at her perfectly rational behaviours. She was about to protest when a knock was issued on the office door.

“Enter!” Geccemp immediately became grave and called from his seat.

The door opened and a goblin who Hermione knew as Greepak entered the office. He strode straight to Geccemp’s desk and bowed. “Bonjour, Sir. Monsieur Malfoy is here and wishes to meet you.” He informed Geccemp in an official tone.

“Monsieur Julian Malfoy?” Geccemp enquired.

“Yes, sir.” Greepak affirmed. “Him and his cousin from Britain, Monsieur Draco Malfoy.”

As soon as the name Draco Malfoy reached her ears, Hermione’s smile died in her lips. She eyed Geccemp and Greepak with apprehension, her body shaking from head to foot. How could she have forgotten that Draco Malfoy was supposed to visit Gringotts on Saturday? She was leaving the country to avoid him and now he was standing outside her boss’s office! Merlin! How could she be such a fool?

Geccemp, the very clever and observant Goblin, immediately noticed Hermione’s sudden change of demeanor but preferred not to question it before his subordinate. Instead he looked at Greepak and said. “Please apologize to them on my behalf and tell them make themselves comfortable while I finish an important conversation.”

Greepak bowed and left without another word. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Hermione jumped to her feet.

“I am sorry sir but I must leave! Before the Malfoys come here!” she cried, her voice trembling and hysterical. No! This was not happening to her! THIS was not happening to her!

Geccemp eyed her with utmost concern. “But if you leave through that door now, Jean, you’ll definitely bump into them.” He said, not probing her for sudden eagerness to leave his office. “I think you should go and wait in my workshop until they leave.” He offered, motioning at his workshop’s direction.

Hermione could not think of any better option and, therefore, nodded. She would have casted a Disillusionment Charm upon herself had she not been in Gringotts, a place where any kind of concealing charm was prohibited.

Geccemp left his seat and ushered Hermione to his workshop. It was a large cavern, lit with torches and decorated elaborately with most intriguing of toolbars made by the goblin himself. He hid the place from prying eyes behind a stained glass window which acted as a screen.

“You are safe here, Jean.” Geccemp assured her with a gentle pat on the shoulder. “The window is enchanted in way so that only you can see or hear them but they can’t.” He informed her, “Take a seat and calm yourself.” he said and left the workshop, sealing the entrance behind him.

Hermione felt her legs go numb and she slumped on the nearest stool, waiting for the dreaded encounter as Geccemp walked to his office door, opened it and ushered the visitors inside.

•••••

Draco and Julian were not seated for more than five minutes when the silver door leading to the chief Goblin’s office swung open and he peeped out.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy.” he addressed, seeing them, “Please come in.” He gestured them inside.

“Bonjour!” Julian greeted back as he and Draco rose from their seats and followed the goblin. As he stepped in, Draco looked around the spacious office. It was quite large with a stained glass window on one side and a large mahogany table on the other. A large chandelier of what looked like a candle stubs on dinosaur skeleton was hanging from the ceiling. The goblin graciously offered them seats which he took with an air of disdain.

“I see you are alone, Chief Goblin Geccemp.” Julian commented, his grey eyes moving around the office in search of someone.

Geccemp settled behind his large desk, facing the Malfoys now. “I was not aware, Monsieur, that you were expecting someone else too.” he said confidently. He next fixed his beady eyes on Draco. “And this must be Monsieur Draco Malfoy.”

Draco decided not to reply. He was Draco Malfoy and there was no need to prove it before a goblin. Julian, however, smiled. 

“Yes. He is.” He said with a glance at Draco’s direction. “Actually we were waiting outside your office when Greepak told us that the Chief Curse Breaker is inside, talking to you. So I thought, for a moment, that we will finally get to meet her. After all, Curse Breaker Jean’s skill on this particular field is legendary, isn’t it?”

Draco looked at Julian, stunned. What was he hearing? Gringotts France has a woman on the post of Chief Curse Breaker! “You mean, their Curse Breaker is a _woman_?” he asked incredulously.

Geccemp chuckled, looking very smug. “Yes, Monsieur Malfoy.” He replied on Julian’s stead. “ _Mademoiselle_ Jean is _physically_ a _woman_ but _mentally_ she’s far ahead of her opposite sex. She is patient, brave and has a thirst for knowledge that is very rare these days. And that was _why_ she was promoted to be the Chief Curse Breaker. She, as your cousin said, is the best.”  He did not endeavor to hide the pride in his voice. “But let us put this discussion aside.” he told Draco and turned to Julian, “Monsieur, I believe you wished to meet me for some important reasons.” He prompted.

“I do.” Julian nodded and reached inside his coat. He took out a small box and passed it to Geccemp who opened it to find a large diamond ring. “This ring was passed to us recently after one of mother’s aunts died. I heard that now-a-days diamonds are being subjected to innovative curses to prevent the new bearers from wearing them and therefore, thought it would be wise to consult you.” he said evenly, “That’s why the topic of Curse Breaker Jean came in.”

The Goblin examined the diamond with a slight furrow between eye brows. “Very well Monsieur.” He looked up and closed the box with a snap, “The matter will be taken care of most earnestly.” he assured Julian.

“By Mademoiselle Jean, I hope?” Julian supplied, “If not, then I explicitly request her expertise in this matter. After all it will be worn by my mother, Lady Audré and I shall not tolerate any carelessness on her regard.” He pressed.  

“As you wish, Monsieur Malfoy.” Geccemp ensured him with a dignified nod. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Merci.” Julian replied. “That will be all.”

Draco, who had been silent during his cousin’s conversation, took the opportunity to voice the question nagging in his mind. “This Curse Breaker Jean, is she a Pureblood?” he asked Geccemp.

Geccemp eyed Draco carefully as Julian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Why do you enquire so, Monsieur Draco?” he asked pointedly.

“Because only Pureblood Witches can have such kind of rare magical abilities - passed to them from generations of pureblood ancestors.” Draco replied proudly.

Geccemp’s eyes flashed dangerously. “But Monsieur, correct me if I am wrong, Lord Voldemort was a very powerful wizard and he was a Half-Blood. Surely you know better than I do, Sir, since you must have been blessed by his love.” Geccemp said, unmistakable tone of sarcasm in his voice.

He touched a nerve because Draco’s face reddened on his remark. “You speak of Dark Lord with such careless ease, Goblin.” he said coolly.

Geccemp smiled at Draco. “I do, Sir, since he’s no longer worth than a Knut in dirt. Pity he could not even afford a decent burial from his Pureblooded followers.” he remarked, smirking.

Julian sensed the dangerous turn in their conversation and stood up before Draco could retaliate. “Merci, Geccemp for giving us your valuable time.” He said, “Come Cousin. Let’s go.” He motioned Draco, who was glaring at the Goblin silently. “Au revoir, Geccemp.”

“The pleasure was only mine, Monsieur. Have a nice day.” Geccemp, like a professional, stood up and opened the office door for them. With last look of venom at his direction Draco followed his cousin out. After ensuring that they had really left he went to his workshop. The stained glass window slid aside and revealed a Hermione sitting ashen faced and tight-lipped on a stool.

“Jean?” Geccemp cried softly as he came to stand before her. “Are you alright?”

Hermione did not respond.

“Jean?” the Goblin looked worried.

His voice brought Hermione back to her senses. She looked down at him, her eyes blank. Silently, she rolled the sleeve of her left forearm and offered it to the Goblin. There was a thin bright cut across her skin that wrote: Mudblood.

“Draco Malfoy’s Aunt Bellatrix Lestrange did it.” she told her boss, her eyes tearful now, “I hope you understand why I don’t want to meet them.” She explained.

The Goblin had no words to convey his feelings. He eyed the scar, his lips between his sharp white teeth.  

“I never showed it to anyone here at Gringotts, except for you, sir.” Hermione said. “In fact, I never thought I would. But today… when I saw you defending me… fiercely… you earned a place of trust in my heart…” she said tearfully and stood up. “…there can be no higher honour for me to work here… with you…” she clamped her mouth and left the office, almost running.

How Hermione reached her home she didn’t know. As soon as she came out of the special Floo from Gringotts, she started for her bedroom. It was blissfully empty there, Adrian must be playing with his friends in the garden. Feeling very hot, she left for the bathroom, fully dressed. All she needed was solitude and water. Lots of water!

She had seen him today! Draco Malfoy! She had seen him at last! Her tormentor!

Tears were streaming down her cheek and Hermione wiped them. She climbed into the bathtub and turned on the shower. As the cold water started pouring she settled herself on the floor beneath it and closed her eyes.

_29 th March, 1998. Hermione would never forget that date as long as she lived. _

_It was almost a week before Easter holidays and she had been planning to make something special for the occasion. On that day while her friends, Harry and Ron sat idly to catch up with the latest broadcast of Potterwatch in their small radio, she decided to visit the local food market for some eggs, chocolate, flour, sugar, butter and milk. She had been trying to remember her grandmother’s recipe for chocolate cake and these were all she could come up with._

_She had borrowed Harry’s Invisibility Cloak and apparated near a small market. Once there she removed the cloak, folded and tucked it into the bag she had brought to carry her purchase._

_Not wanting to thieve the foods that she would be using to make the Easter cake, she bought them all with the Muggle money she was carrying and put them on her bag along with the cloak._

_Tired, after an hour of shopping and walking with a heavy bag, she had decided to return to their tent and surprise the boys._

_Had she known what surprise was waiting for her there, she would have made sure to put on the Invisibility Cloak._

_When Hermione appeared in the campsite the tent was as silent as grave. Panicking and not knowing what to do Hermione dropped her bag and called the first name that came in her mind: Harry!_

_Flashes of red jet hit her square on chest and she sprawled on the ground, stupified. When she came back to her senses she heard rough voices and felt someone carrying her._

_“Delicious girl…what a treat…I do enjoy the softness of the skin…” said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. A shiver went down Hermione’s spine._

_“We have caught Potter’s accomplice! Let’s take her to the Ministry, Greyback!” someone offered._

_“To hell with the Ministry, Scabior!” Growled Greyback. “They’ll take the credit and we won’t get a look in. I say we take her straight to You-Know-Who.”_

_“Will you summon ‘im? ‘ere?” Scabior sounded terrified._

_“No” snarled Greyback, “I haven’t got – they say he’s using the Malfoy’s place as a base. We’ll take the girl there.”_

_Hermione was terrified. How did this happen? How could they get caught like this? Everything was fine when she had left for market? What could have happened during her absence? And most importantly, where were Harry and Ron?_

_Questions after questions burst inside her head and she felt the familiar sensation of Apparition. After it was over, she squinted her eyes open an inch and saw that they had landed in a country lane. She saw a pair of wrought iron gates at the foot of a long drive. One of the snatchers strode to the gates and shook them._

_“How do we get in? They’re locked, Greyback, I can’t – blimey.” he whipped his hands away in fright as the iron contorted, twisting itself into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice: “State your purpose.”_

_“We’ve got Potter’s accomplice!” Greyback roared triumphantly, “We’ve captured Potter’s girlfriend!”_

_The gates swung open noiselessly._

_“Come on!” Greyback snarled at his men and Hermione was hitched forward through the gates and up the drive, between the high hedges. She closed her eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness._

_“What is this?” the sound of a door opening somewhere before her reached her ears and a woman’s cold voice demanded from the group._

_“We are here to see He Who Must Not Be Named.” rasped Greyback._

_“Who are you?” the woman asked indignantly._

_“You know me, ma’am.” there was resentment in werewolf’s voice, “Fenrir Greyback. We have got Potter’s Mudblood girlfriend.”_

_Hermione felt herself being dragged forward and she landed painfully as they dropped her on the landing. With immense control she refrained herself from crying in pain._

_“Bring her in.” she heard the cold female voice. “Follow me.” she instructed them._

_Hermione was lifted by strong hands under her arms and carried while her knees made painful friction with the cold floor.  She dared not to open her eyes. Finally after what appeared like hours they brought her somewhere where floor was covered with rich carpet. She was thrown unceremoniously on the floor where she sprawled like a broken doll._

_“What is this, Narcissa?” she heard dreadfully familiar drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy. Her heart skipped a beat._

_“They say they have got Potter’s Mudblood.” said Narcissa’s cold voice. “Where is Draco? We need him to identify her.”_

_“He’s upstairs. I will call…” but he saw interrupted as a third voice echoed across the room._

_“What’s this? What happened, Cissy?”_

_Hermione opened her right eye a fraction of an inch and saw Bellatrix Lestrange as she walked into the room. She approached Hermione who shut her eyes again._

_Things certainly couldn’t turn any worse than this! Bellatrix was a pure maniac and took exceptional pleasure in torturing Muggleborns. Hermione was racking her brains for a way to escape. She heard footfalls approach her and then someone shifted her using a foot._

_“But surely this is the Mudblood girl!” Bellatrix said quietly, a voice that had foreboding calmness “This is Granger.”_

_Hermione expected her to cast a Cruciatus on her immediately. She could no longer feign unconsciousness if Bellatrix did so. But then someone cut in._

_“Are you sure?” Hermione heard Lucius’s uncertain voice, “Well, then the Dark Lord must be informed at once.” he said._

_Hermione felt the footfalls move away from her, Bellatrix was leaving her for the time being untouched, buying her more time._

_“I will call Him.” she cackled from somewhere near her head._

_“I was about to call him, Bella!” Lucius shouted, “I shall summon him, Potter’s Mudblood was brought into my house and it is therefore upon my authority…”_

_“Your authority?” roared Bellatrix, “You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius. How dare you? Take your hands off me.” she shrieked._

_“This has nothing to do with you, you did not capture the Mudblood–“ protested Lucius._

_“Begging your pardon Mr. Malfoy,” interjected Greyback, “But it is us who caught Potter’s Mudblood.”_

_Hermione took advantage of the commotion and opened her eyes fully to see Narcissa standing by her, her wand in her hand, watching the tri-party conflict. It was now or never._

_She jumped to her feet, yanked Narcissa’s wand from her hand and took her hostage, pointing Narcissa’s wand to her own neck before she could even flinch._

_The commotion died instantly as all the other occupants glared at Hermione._

_“If anyone dares to approach me,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, “She dies. I swear it.”_

_“You won’t dare touch my wife, Mudblood.” Lucius warned her, releasing Bellatrix’s hand._

_“Try me, Lucius Malfoy!” Hermione said as she started to back away from the room, gripping Narcissa tightly. “No foul play, Mrs. Malfoy!” she warned her, “Take me to the entrance. Now!” she ordered._

_“You can’t get away with this, Mudblood!” Bellatrix said, pointing her wand to them._

_“I swear I’ll kill your sister if you try to stop me!” Hermione was desperate to put as much distance as possible between them. She knew she couldn’t kill Narcissa even if she wanted to but her threat seemed to do its job because both Lucius and Bellatrix were eyeing her warily._

_And then suddenly someone grabbed her hair and pulled it painfully. Hermione lost control of her body and released Narcissa._

_“How dare you touch my mother?” she heard familiar drawl of Draco Malfoy from behind her. “How dare you threaten to kill my Pureblood mother, Mudblood?” he pulled her hair more painfully._

_Hermione’s eyes watered in pain. “Bravo, Draco!” she heard Bellatrix cackle in delight. “Leave the Mudblood to me and I will teach her the meaning of pain.”_

_“No!” Draco snarled, “It will be me!” he dragged Hermione by her hairs only, who struggled to release his iron grips. “I will teach her to behave properly with her superiors.” he said maliciously._

_“Be careful Draco. She must be alive for the Dark Lord.” Lucius warned his son._

_“She will be alive, father. Physically, at least.” Draco replied._

_“Take your hands off me, you twitchy little Ferret!” Hermione struggled vigorously._

_“Ferret, huh!” Draco said as he opened a door and started dragging her downstairs by her hair._

_Hermione screamed in pain as her body hit the stone steps but Draco paid no heed. He was panting as he pulled her deeper and deeper in the dungeons. Her body then met rough cold stones as the stone steps ended and Draco threw her on hard floor. Hermione groaned in pain._

_“You wanted to kill my mother?” he said and kicked her on her stomach and she rolled on her side, clutching her stomach painfully. He kicked her several times there, relentlessly. “I will kill the Dark Lord, himself if he lays a hand on my mother and you, a Mudblood dare to touch her?” he shouted._

_“Malfoy, I did not mean to do it!” Hermione panted. “Try to understand! I was desperate!”_

_“You did not mean to!” Draco laughed maniacally, “You did not mean to, Mudblood? But I mean to do what I want to do.” He screamed at her as he stooped and grabbed her jeans._

_Hermione froze. She grabbed his hands, “What are you doing, Malfoy?” she asked, horrified._

_“Teaching you your proper place!” he spat as he yanked open her jeans and Hermione screamed._

•••••

Hermione was screaming hysterically, clutching her skirts when the bathroom door burst open.

“What happened? What happened?” came Apolline’s panicked voice as she entered the bathroom and found Hermione shaking uncontrollably under cold shower, screaming and clutching her skirt tightly, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh my poor child!” she exclaimed and ran to her; she climbed into the bathtub, turned off the shower and embraced the soaked woman tightly.

In reply Hermione only cried harder.

“Ssssshh! Sssshh! It’s alright! Mother is here.” Apolline tried to console the crying woman, “What’s wrong, deary?” she kissed on her wet head.

“He is here! He is here! He is here!” Hermione cried, her voice demented, “Draco Malfoy is here! I saw him! Today!”  

And then everything went blank.  


	9. Chapter 9: And the Cycle Completes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being made from this work.

** **

 

** Chapter 9: And the Cycle Completes… **

_**H** ermione’s whole body was aching._

_Her scalp was burning from repeated painful hair pulling._

_Her eyes stung from constant crying._

_Her lips were bruised from forceful kissing._

_Her throat hurt from prolonged screaming and her limbs were numb from brutal beating. She couldn’t move them an inch._

_But none of those pains were equivalent to the one she felt between her thighs: the place that bled due to loss of innocence._

_She lied motionless on her side in the Malfoy Dungeons, too tired to even open an eye after the vengeful encounter with Draco Malfoy. There were other occupants in the dungeons: Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange._

_“Your handiwork is perfect, Draco.” Bellatrix praised her nephew after observing her captive’s condition, “Especially the blood between her thighs looks so deliciously temping. I guess she was a virgin.” She licked her lips, “Greyback had been requesting me for the Mudblood. I guess this sight will arouse him beyond anything.” She let out a high pitched maniacal laugh._

_“Let’s have her dressed, aunt.” Draco’s voice came from his stand in a corner. It was strangely empty._

_“Why be so shy, dear nephew?” Bellatrix mocked him mercilessly, “You just violated her, didn’t you? Besides, it is more fun to torture naked victims. Crucio!” without giving anyone a moment’s notice, she pointed her wand at Hermione and cried._

_Hermione’s nerves were too taut to feel any kind of physical pain. Like Moody’s spiders, she writhed in silent agony as Bellatrix subjected her to Cruciatus Curse again and again and again. Why didn’t death just come and take her? She would welcome it now._

_“Enough Bella!” Lucius voice whipped in the air, it was authoritative. “We need her alive and sane for the Dark Lord. He will be needing her to question about that Potter’s whereabouts.”_

_Bellatrix lifted her curse reluctantly. She kicked Hermione on her bare stomach._

_“I will come back later, darling Mudblood.” She cooed sickly sweet. “But before I leave, I would like to bestow a gift upon you, something that will remind you who you really are.”_

_She stooped and lowered her mouth over Hermione’s almost lifeless left hand. Her tongue licked a tender spot over the forearm and after a second Bellatrix bit her flesh like a hungry animal._

_Unable bear the inhumane torture any longer, Hermione screamed this time and tried to pull her hand away from the maniac’s vice like grip. But Bellatrix ignored her and continued biting._

_It went on for what seemed like ages. Hermione screamed and screamed and screamed until her voice was too weak to even squeak. It echoed around the cold walls of dungeon and was magnified manifold. She thought of Ron, she thought of Harry, she thought of her parents, and Professor McGonagall; those who could save her from this hell; but there was no one to listen and come to her aid. They were not here. She was completely alone and only a few hours from death when Voldemort returned and started questioning her about Harry Potter._

_“Look at your new signature!” Bellatrix licked blood off her lips and held Hermione’s bloodied forearm before her unfocused eyes; “It says…” she examined the writing in the wand light, “…Mudblood.” She let out another maniacal laugh and dropped Hermione’s hand with utmost neglect. It landed on the floor like a dead twig._

_“Lucius!” Bellatrix’s head spun at her brother-in-law’s direction as she stood up, “Call your elves and tell them to clean this mess. Then take this Mudblood to the other prisoners in the cellar.”_

_Lucius clapped twice and two house elves appeared immediately. They were on filthy rags and bowed deeply to him._

_“Master?” their trembling voices echoed and reached Hermione’s ears._

_Lucius pointed a long nailed firm index finger at the motionless and bloodied Hermione lying on the floor. “Clean that Mudblood.” he spat at the elves. “…dress her. Then take her to the other prisoners, vermins.”_

_The elves bowed obediently again and proceeded to take care of Hermione. Handing her roughly, they started cleaning her wounds and after it was done, repaired her torn clothes and dressed her in it._

_“Draco, do you think Potter will come to save his Mudblood?” Bellatrix asked her nephew, watching the elves work from the corner of her eyes._

_“He should.” Draco replied curtly, sounding disturbed and left of his place in the shadows. “I am going to my room.” He declared, “I need to clean this muck.” he indicated the blood that was smearing his groin._

_“But your seeds are inside the Mudblood’s womb!” Bellatrix teased him, sounding delighted. “There can be no higher honour for her. After all, they are pureblood seeds.” she said proudly. Draco did not respond and left the dungeon without a backward glance at the woman lying on the floor._

_The elves finished dressing Hermione, who was, by that time, too weak to think who might be her prison mates. Then in the click of a finger, they brought her in a dimly lit cellar and dropping her like a rag doll, left._

_Hermione curled herself into a ball and lied motionless. She heard footfalls approaching her but she did not care. Nothing mattered anymore._

_“Hermione?” a voice asked in surprise._

_“Luna?” Hermione opened her eyes and saw the vague outline of Luna Lovegood who she knew was abducted monthes ago. “So they brought you here?” she commented, too weak to even think properly._

_Luna nodded and sat beside Hermione, looking relieved to meet a familiar face after such a long time. “But how come you are here?” her eyes roved down Hermione’s crumpled form._

_Hermione sighed, “Long story.” It was strange. She has never felt so helpless and defeated._

_“Are Harry and Ron here too?” Luna asked, looking terrified but Hermione shook her head. “Water, Luna, water!” she asked instead._

_“Yes, of course!” Luna looked mortified to not have considered the point, “I am sorry I did not think that you might be thirsty.” she went to fetch some water. “Here!” She brought a medium sized pitcher and set it on the floor before Hermione. “They don’t give us goblets. So we drink directly from this.” she indicated at the pitcher._

_Hermione sat up with difficulty and brought the pitcher to her lips, her hands trembling. She tried her best to drink without spilling water on her but her hands were too weak and her throat, too dry._

_Luna eyed Hermione with concern. Somehow her always carefree attitude was absent now. As Hermione put down the pitcher, she reached for her left forearm,  her aim being to touch the scar that proclaimed ‘Mudblood’._

_Hermione’s eyes absentmindedly followed Luna’s hand’s movement. “Don’t touch me!” she withdrew her hand as soon as Luna’s reached hers. In the coldness of the dungeon, her warning sounded unnecessarily sharp._

_Luna withdrew her hand and sighed deeply. Hermione gulped down some more water, only for the sake of doing something with her mouth. She had no interest to know if there were other prisoners in the cellar or Luna was raped too._

_They remained silent for a long time. Then Luna spoke._

_“They will not know about it, Hermione.” She said simply._

_Hermione looked at her companion, a new fear gripping her heart. Surely Luna has not guessed what happened to her? No! No, she didn’t! Hermione wouldn’t let it! No one should ever know what that Malfoy did to her! Not even upon her death!_

_“What are you talking about?” she asked Luna, her tone accusing._

_Luna smiled. It was strangely sad and didn’t really match her usual carefree features. “You know what I am talking about, Hermione. But I promise I’ll never breathe a word to a soul.”_

_Hermione’s body went rigid. Luna knows! Luna knows! Oh Merlin! “How do you know?” she asked, tears silently streaming down her cheek._

_“It’s simple.” Luna replied quietly and came closer to Hermione. She ran an earth covered hand over her disarrayed curls and for some inexplicable reason, Hermione didn’t flinch away. “Your aura has changed, dear. It has increased. It’s brighter now.”_

_Hermione stared at Luna in utter disbelief. Has Luna finally lost her mind? It was one thing to say that Nargles or Crumpled- Horned Snorkacks existed and it was another to comment that the aura of a violated female body has increased._

Hermione was brought back from her reverie as a small body shifted against hers and she looked down at her sleeping son.

Her son: Adrian Thomas Granger! The child born from the _precious_ seeds of Draco ‘pureblood’ Malfoy that was planted on her Mudblood womb on that fateful day!   

Hermione knew now what Luna had meant that day. Her aura did change because a new life was already taking its form inside her body at that moment.

For a long time, Hermione watched Adrian sleep. He was snuggling against her and his small chest rose and fell rhythmically with each breath he took, unaware of the truth about what had happened to his mother and how he came to be.

Apolline had discovered Hermione in her bathroom earlier that afternoon, soaking wet under cold water and screaming hysterically. She had fainted soon afterwards and they called their family Healer, Monsieur Jonas, who had given his patient a strong dose of Calming Draught and a Stress Reliever. Adrian had stood on the doorway, watching with round eyes as his mysteriously sick mother was nursed back to health. Hermione took her supper and went to bed early. She was calmer now but awake and reliving the unholy events that took place in the Malfoy dungeons more than six years ago.

She saw him at Gringotts today. The arrogant teenager was now a full grown and even more arrogant man. He was dressed in all black and Hermione, though not wanting to see him ever again, couldn’t help but notice a wedding band on his left ring finger. His silvery blonde hair had grown longer, now touching the nape of his neck. He was taller now and leaner. Hermione still could feel the power of those muscles when he had beaten her mercilessly and forced himself on her. There were some scars that never fully healed, no matter how hard one tried.

Eventually Harry and Ron had saved her, Luna and the other captives from the cellar with the help of Dobby the House-elf, who perished at Bellatrix’s hand and succumbed to death on the shores beside the shell cottage.

Hermione sighed and pushed the thoughts of Harry or Ron on the back of her mind. It was a past that she has left behind. Her life was her son now, her Adrian.

•••••

Draco had spent his first week in France by visiting famous Parisian landmarks, The Louvre Museum, The Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe. His uncle’s family, his aunt and cousins, had accompanied him and Narcissa to all those places.

Paris was a city full of life and the more he scoured the city, the more he felt how very lonely he was. He would see couples clinging to each other, hugging and kissing and it would remind him of his wife, Astoria. He would see families walking on the streets, fathers with their sons held securely in their arms and mothers clutching their daughter’s hands, and it would remind him of his Scorpius. He could have been here too, carrying his own son in his arms, laughing and kissing his wife Astoria.    

Ten days after his visit to Gringotts, Julian decided to take Draco to Musée d'Orsay or Orsay Museum. Compared to Louvre, Orsay was relatively young and housed the largest collection of impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces in the world. Draco was not interested in paintings but he had nothing to do at the Château. Time was dragging by and he has already visited Ruelle Les Halles on pursuit of ingredients for the Headache Potion, which he brewed for Audré two days ago.

Julian was in an exceptional good mood as he apparated Draco and himself to their destination. Seconds later, they appeared in a quite alleyway and Julian showed him the museum building. It was glowing by the morning light.

“Orsay museum was originally a railway station called Gare d'Orsay,” He started his usual history lesson and Draco stifled a yawn. “It is on the left bank of the Seine and mainly  holds French art dating from 1848 to 1915, including paintings, sculptures, furniture, and photography by world famous Muggle painters including Monet, Manet, Renoir, Cézanne and Van Gogh.”

They spent the rest of the morning and afternoon in the museum. Like a reluctant student who had no option but to listen to his teacher’s boring lecture, Draco followed his cousin from one painting to another.

“Julian, sorry but I am getting confused.” Draco finally lost his patience around midday. “I don’t know all these Muggle painters.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

“Point taken.” Julian smiled and nodded, as if understanding Draco’s silent trick to leave him be. He had all the usual Malfoy traits except for the silvery blonde hair. His hair was dark, like his mother Audré’s was. “Let’s go home then. It’s lunchtime.” He said, checking his time piece.

Draco shook his head. He wasn’t feeling hungry at all. All he needed was some fresh air and solitude so that he could clear all these lectures on painters and paintings from his head. “No, thank you. Is there any other place where I can spend some time alone?” he asked Julian.

“Well,” Julian let out an exasperated sigh and ushered Draco to the exit. “…there is Tuileries Garden, just across the river Seine.” He seemed to let go of the hope of a hearty lunch, “Let’s go.”

“No.” Draco stopped Julian. “I don’t want to be escorted every single place I go.” he said firmly.

“Are you sure?” Julian probed Draco, careful not to annoy him. “This is your first time in Paris.”

“I am not a kid.” Draco snapped irritably. This was downright insulting. What was his uncle’s family taking him as? “I am fluent in French and it’s been weeks since I came here. If I want I can apparate back to Château. Thank you.”

Julian did not press the matter further. He showed Draco the way across the Seine to reach the Tuileries and waved him goodbye before apparating away.

Draco started walking on the pavement to reach his destination, the famous Tuileries Garden.

•••••

Hermione was leaving for her Belgium tour tomorrow morning with Adrian, Gabrielle and her friends, Eva and Edmound.

After her last encounter with Draco Malfoy almost ten days ago, Hermione had been trying her best to forget it. She was keeping herself busy in shopping at Muggle and magical markets alike, searching books on Cursed Diamonds at the magical section of National Library of France and packing for their upcoming holiday to Belgium. In between her busy schedule, she had bought tickets for Thalys. It was an international high-speed train which ran between Paris and Brussels. Everything was perfect. Everything was set. Draco Malfoy couldn’t reach them there.

The most enthusiastic person in the whole Delacour Residence was, undoubtedly, Adrian who had been running around the house from the morning and questioning everyone about Brussels. By midday, he was making such uncharacteristic racket that Hermione found it very hard to pack her bags. So she Flooed Eva after lunch (Gabrielle was still at the Delacour apothecary) and asked her to take Adrian to nearby the Tuileries Garden. The kid loved to sit there and draw.

Eva, who has already visited many places with Adrian, was more than happy to comply. She assured Hermione that she’d take great care of her precious son and would never let him out her sight. She and her brother Edmound had already packed their bags and she had nothing to do for the evening.

Hermione almost had to wrestle her jumping son in a pair of jeans, a red and white striped T-shirt and a matching blue cap to protect his delicate eyes from sunlight.

“Now little rabbit, be a good boy and never leave Aunt Eva’s hand.” she kissed her son tenderly, “Don’t talk to strangers or eat anything they offer. Okay?”

“Okay, Mama.” Adrian squealed and tilted his head sideways.

“Don’t worry, Jean.” Eva rolled her eyes at her friend’s default advice. Hermione always did that, even thought she knew that Adrian wasn’t that fool to talk to strangers or eat anything they offered him.  Eva took the boy by his little hand and left the house for the Tuileries.

Hermione returned to her packing. She had just two hours to finish it before Adrian returned from his afternoon excursion. 

•••••

Draco spent his after afternoon walking inside Tuileries garden aimlessly. The place was vast and he was soon lost in his thoughts. He did not even notice when he left the garden and reached the street outside.

Astoria had always wanted to visit Paris. She called it ‘the city of love’ and had asked Draco to take her to Paris for their honeymoon. But Lucius had interfered, reminding Draco of his French aunt. Draco had chosen Italy instead. He had a farm house in Tuscany and he would never forget their honeymoon there.

Remembering those golden days of his life, Draco sighed. What an irony!

Now he was walking on the streets of Paris and staying at the same French aunt and her family’s home and Astoria was dead and gone. He failed to fulfill her one wish to take her to Paris. Draco felt a sense of guilt fill his heart. It was Astoria who had to suffer for his father’s nonsense prejudices.

“OUCH!”

Draco was brought to his senses by a sudden thud and a loud cry of pain. Startled, he looked around for the source of the sound and after a few moments of frantic scrutiny of surroundings, realized that it was coming from a small boy who lay at his feet, rubbing his eye.   

That boy, as he would find out in next ten minutes before Eva came and took him away, was his son, Adrian Thomas Granger.


	10. Chapter 10: Looking for His Precious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblances are co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this story.

** Chapter 10: Looking for His Precious. **

**E** ver since the night Audré massaged his head under the pretence of touching her British nephew and he fell asleep in his couch under her gentle spell, Draco could sleep quite effortlessly, without the help of sleeping potions. Nowadays he would sit in the same couch, hum Audré’s words inside his head and like a Sleeping Charm, they would put him to a sleep. His dreams were getting better; they comprised mostly of some of his happy memories twisted with imagination. Astoria was always present in them with their son, Scorpius.

But tonight Draco was too preoccupied to even think about sleep, let alone try to invite it. Dinner being over, he was now sitting with the rest the family: Narcissa, Audré and his cousins, and discussing about various ways to find out who that _Adrian_ was. This boy was the sole concern of his life now.

Julian had gone to his office at the Ministry after he left Draco outside the Orsay Museum and returned to Château for his hearty lunch. He was the Second-in-command in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Draco was wondering if he could use his powers to help him find the boy. Audré has already briefed her son about the incident in the Tuileries and Julian now sat beside his sister, Lillian, brooding like an old owl.

“Finding this boy, Adrian, can’t be that difficult, Draco.” he said after a while, looking pensive, “Any Underage wizard or witch has the Trace on him or her. There are two departments who take care of it: the Department for the Protection of Young Magical Citizens and the Department of Improper Use of Magic. We could go there and see if they have a boy named Adrian enlisted in their Trace Directory.  But…” he paused and looked up at Draco, “…it would have been easier if we had his surname too.”

Draco snorted irritably. Here he was having procuring the _first name_ of the boy from that hawk like woman and now his cousin was asking him for a _surname_. What the heck was he thinking? As if that hawk-woman would have happily provided him with Adrian’s surname had Draco asked her.

“But what if this Adrian is a Muggle boy?” Lillian countered, taking the issue very seriously. She sat beside Narcissa, their features almost alike for she also had blonde hair and blue eyes, just as Draco’s mother had. Those didn’t know might mistake them as mother and daughter. “He won’t have the Trace on his then.”

Draco shook his head in despair. He just could not bring himself to think that Adrian was a Muggle boy. He just could not. From head to toe, that boy was surely a Malfoy, that much was clear to him and there has never been a squib among the Malfoys, let alone a Muggle.

It was Audré whose words finally brought him some relief.

“If the boy is a Muggle, Lillian, we can search him using Muggle methods. And if he is magical, then I think it will be better if we check St. Joan’s.” she said confidently, “Julian’s idea of using the Trace is good but since we don’t have Adrian’s surname, or a valid reason to track him, it would mean a lot of paperwork and explanations as to why we are looking for that _particular_ kid. The ministry takes these issues very seriously; they may even notify the boy’s parents that their son is being tracked and if they sue Julian, he might lose his job for malpraxis of his powers.”

Draco nodded bitterly, realizing the gravity of the situation and deciding not to press the point anymore. These French people! All they knew was lecturing on rules and rules! Had he been in England, he would have found the boy in a snap of finger, the Malfoys were that influential.

“What’s that place you said, St. Joan’s or whatever?” Narcissa asked her sister-in-law, her features concerned. “And why is it safer to look for Adrian there?”

“Because…” Audré smirked mysteriously, “… _every_ single magical kid in France goes to St. Joan’s, Narcissa, whether they are purebloods, half-bloods or Muggleborns.” She crossed her legs and sat comfortably, as if readying herself for a long tale.

“St. Joan’s is a very old and prestigious institution for pre-school magical kids in France.” Audré started, “I believe you know that just like you go to Hogwarts for magical education, we, the French, go to Beauxbatons. But before we go to Beauxbatons, we are sent to St. Joan’s.”

“St Joan’s was founded by a famous French Sorceress, Eugène Thirion in 1432. At that time witch-burning ritual was at its peak. Anyone suspected of witchcraft was tortured and burned to death in a haystack. While adult witches or wizards were not affected by that burning, the children were. Young kids can’t control their magic and are more prone to accidental magical outbursts. And if that happened, it would either mean death or using a lot of Memory Charms to modify the memories of the concerned Muggle authorities. So to avoid that, St. Joan’s was founded especially to train our kids to control their magic and as I said, every single witch or wizard in France has attended St. Joan’s.”

“But why St. _Joan_ ’s?” Narcissa asked, sounding skeptic about the name of the school. “I have never heard of a famous witch named Joan.”

“Because St. Joan’s _Joan_ is not a witch, Narcissa.” Audré replied patiently, “That Joan is the _Joan of Arc_ , a Muggle woman and a warrior. She is one of our national heroes for her outstanding courage during the Hundred Years War between France and England.”

“I don’t understand.” Narcissa shook her head, frowning. “Why should the French name a school for _magical_ kids on a _Muggle_ woman?”

“Because that name, _Joan_ , is an epitome of perished innocence.” Audré replied with a sad sigh, “I don’t want to bore you with my History lesson, I am pretty sure Julian did that to Draco this afternoon when he took him to that museum.” She added with a smile, “But it is a well known fact that Joan of Arc _was not_ a witch. During the war when the English realized that it was becoming difficult to win against her, they purposefully framed her on Witchcraft. I already told you that Witchcraft was considered a punishable crime then and Joan was executed by burning. After she died, the English raked back the coals to expose her charred body so that no one could claim she that escaped alive and then burned the body two more times to reduce it to ashes and prevent any collection of relics.They, then, cast Joan of Arc’s remains into the Seine River.” She sighed sadly, “The amount of violence the English used to literally _destroy_ Joan of Arc touched everyone – Magic and Muggle alike. She was our hero, the hero of France and she was innocent. We mourned her death and to honour her memory, the following year Sorceress Eugene founded St. Joan’s and named it after her. St. Joan’s, by its name, reminds us to take care of our magical children so that they don’t perish as Joan of Arc did.”

When Audré finished everyone except Draco was feeling sad for what had happened to Joan of Arc. Joan was dead for six centuries now and he couldn’t care less for her. His brain was revolving around the one question Lillian had asked. What if Adrian was a Muggle boy? Or a magical kid who still hasn’t come to his powers? By the looks of it, kids wouldn’t be sent to St. Joan’s unless they displayed their magic first. Right?

“What about the Muggle methods you said, aunt?” he asked Audré, keen to learn her point of view. She was proving to be an invaluable advisor when it came to solving such delicate matters.

“That’s pretty simple.” Audré shrugged. “We have to draw a sketch of that boy and show it to the people near the place you first met him.” she uncrossed her legs and sat straight, supporting her chin on her palm. “Not to everyone, of course. To people or places where children go most frequently, like in your case, vendors who sell ice-cream, candies or chocolates near the Tuileries Garden.”

Draco leaned forward in interest, drinking Audré’s words like a man walking on a desert searching for water.

“When I watched your memory, Draco, I noticed a few things.” Audré, it seemed, sensed the palpable tension in the air that followed her words. “Like Adrian had a colouring pencil in his left hand. It was green. That’s not something unnatural because kids his age love to draw. But the point is…” she held an index finger in the air, “…most kids don’t take the trouble to carry their colouring pencils with them. But _this_ boy did. Why?”

“Because he loves drawing.” The answer came automatically from Draco’s lips. “It means that Adrian knows to draw well enough to carry his own colouring pencils.”

“Right you are, nephew.” Audré nodded, as if delighted that her pupil was slowly learning. “But why the Tuileries?” she arched an eyebrow at her breathless audiences.

Draco was waiting for the rest to follow when Julian replied.

“Because, maman, _everyone_ at Paris knows that there is no better place to draw than the _Tuileries_.” He announced, his grey eyes lighting up. “It’s a very beautiful garden. The famous Muggle painter Claude Monet used to go and draw there…”

“Which means Adrian goes there regularly.” Lillian cut into her brother’s lecture on famous painters and finished the rest of the sentence, her blue eyes lighting up, “Oh, maman, that’s brilliant!”

“So nephew,” Audré smirked, clearly enjoying herself, “…while enquiring about Adrian, you should ask the vendors about a boy who visits Tuileries and _draws_.”

Draco was stunned. Literally and irrevocably stunned! That was the second time this evening that Audré has amazed him with her power of observation and deduction. He saw her under a new light now. Audré Chombrun Malfoy certainly wasn’t an ordinary woman. Behind those blue eyes and smirking lips was a brain, sharper than the cutting edge diamond. Draco has rarely come across such intelligence!

“Okay, maman, I’ll call one of our sketch artists and see…” Julian nodded and offered but Draco cut in.

“There is no need, Julian.” He said confidently. Now was the time to act, now was the time to find out who that boy was. “I will make his sketch.” Draco declared.

“ _You will make the sketch_?” Julian repeated, sounding half-skeptic and half-astonished. “Really, cousin? Do you draw?”

“I do.” Draco nodded solemnly.

“But in the museum…” Julian still looked unconvinced, “…you behaved as if nothing is more boring than paintings.”

“That must your boring lectures, Julian, not the paintings.” Lillian supplied, yawning mockingly, “I am pretty sure those painters were turning in their graves, hearing you talking about them.” she said darkly.

Just as they had done in Draco’s suite that very evening, when Audré said she and her daughter were the most amazing women on earth, everyone laughed.

“Draco is very good at art.” Narcissa said proudly, once the laughter died out, “Lucius and I were so proud when we found that we have an artist in the family. Even his drawing master was very impressed with his work.”

Draco was never a modest man but today he didn’t feel like bragging about his drawing skills. He, indeed, was good at drawing, a skill he has mostly employed in making funny cartoons of his arch enemy, Harry Potter.

“Your French is also very good, cousin.” Julian commended, seemingly convinced that his aunt and cousin were telling the truth. “But why would you learn it, when according to Aunt Narcissa, you never planned to visit France?”

Draco sighed. This man had so many questions! “I learned French because it is a tradition among aristocratic purebloods to be able to talk in at least five languages: Italian, French, Spanish, German and Latin. I could not learn them all so learned just three: Italian, French and Latin.” He replied patiently and looked at Audré. “Aunt, where is this Joan Institute you said?”

“ _St. Joan’s_ , Draco.” Audré corrected him, “It’s in Paris, just beside the famous Notre dame cathedral.” She replied, “But the school is closed now, for summer vacations. So we should first concentrate on that sketch.” She advised him. “The boy was there just this afternoon. Chances are that he might visit that place again, tomorrow.”

Draco smiled at the thought. Yes, Adrian might visit the Tuileries again and if he did, Draco Lucius Malfoy wasn’t going to let that hawk-woman to take the boy away so easily, not without an answer.

••••••

One might think that rich housewives had no work except eating, sleeping and spending their family fortune on expensive clothes but that concept was wrong when it came to Audré. As the Lady of the Château, Audré Chombrun Malfoy had numerous duties to perform. The fifteen house elves she had assisted her in it but she was the one who oversaw everything, ensured that every single member of the household received their share of service. The discussion about finding Adrian being over and her nephew now safely tucked in his suite, making a sketch of the said boy, Audré was talking to one of her elves about the current food storage status of the Château when Narcissa came.

“I see that you are quite busy, Audré.” She commented, standing on the threshold of Audré’s parlour entrance but not entering.

Audré looked up from the long list of things that needed to be bought to replenish the pantry and rolled it up. She would talk to her elves later. “Not anymore.” she nodded at the elf, who deciphering her signal, disappeared immediately, leaving her mistress and the guest alone.

“Can we take a turn of the garden, Audré?” Narcissa seemed keen to talk and Audré stood up with a smile.

“Sure.” She walked to her sister-in-law and offered her hand. “Let’s go.”

Hand on hand the ladies left the Château and reached the gardens. It was a moonlit night and the beauty of the exotic flowers was enhanced manifolds by the silvery glow the moon cast over them. Audré and Narcissa walked in the garden for some time, none of them talking but enjoying the beauty, the moonlight and the solitude.

“Audré, I wanted to thank you for everything you have done for us.” Narcissa finally broke the silence, sounding thoughtful.

“You are most welcome.” Audré replied graciously. Somehow, she sensed that giving her a word of thanks wasn’t the sole reason behind Narcissa’s sudden desire to take a walk with the woman she knew not more than two weeks.

“I know, it sounds odd but I don’t think what Lucius did to you and Morpheus was right.” Narcissa admitted bitterly.

“Indeed.” There was a tone of slight skepticism in Audré’s curt response.

“No, Audré, really!” Narcissa seemed to recognize Audré’s tone of doubt, “Just as Draco said this evening, that he doesn’t share his father’s idea towards the French, I don’t share Lucius’s ideas towards his brother’s family. I love my husband, Audré but that doesn’t mean that I’ll support him in everything he did. He was a Death Eater. I wasn’t.”

“I know, Narcissa.” Audré patted kindly on Narcissa’s hand.

They continued walking until Narcissa suddenly stopped by a rose bush, seemingly lost in her thoughts. “The circumstances in which Lucius and I got married were not very pleasant, Audré. It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you that another day. But Morpheus’s leaving his family affected the Malfoys. They were looked down upon by many pureblood families. Lucius certainly didn’t like it. I remember, he once told me that at that time, he was hoping that his brother would return home, defeated and embrace the Malfoy norm of living. But Morpheus got married to you instead and never returned. Maybe that’s the reason Lucius resented you two so much.”

Audré remained silent and let Narcissa speak her mind.

“Lucius used to say that his brother was charmed by a French seductress, that your family used _you_ to create a liaison with the Malfoys. He never let Draco visit France thinking that you might use your charms on him or use Lillian instead.” Narcissa looked mortified by the idea.

Audré shook her head and sighed. “I can still let loose Lillian after Draco, you know.” She said matter-of-factly.

“Please Audré!” Narcissa cried softly, “Don’t misunderstand me! I just stated what I was told to believe. I mean no disrespect to your daughter. Lillian is a wonderful witch and I am sure she’ll have a great life partner.”

“I hope so too.” Audré sighed again. There was a hidden resentment in that sigh that she knew Narcissa was unaware of. But now was not the time to share all the truths behind the two brother’s animosity. It was Narcissa’s time and Audré was interested to learn what explanation she had to offer her.

“Lucius was my husband, Audré, and I love him, trusted him and his judgments.” Narcissa said sadly, “After he, Scorpius and Astoria died, the Manor kind of became like a haunted house. There was no reason to wake up in the morning because I knew I will be the only one in the breakfast table. Draco would spend his days in graveyard, beside Astoria and Scorpius’s graves. He wouldn’t talk or eat or sleep. It was so suffocating! And I had no other family members left. They all died in the war. Then one day, I was going through some of Lucius’s old photos and saw a very old one. It was him and Morpheus, standing on either side of their mother, Medusa. As far as I knew, all of Morpheus’s old things and photos were destroyed when he left home. Then how come this one survived? I removed the photo from the album and decided to see if he was still alive. That’s when I wrote you the letter, Audré, and found out that Morpheus was no more.”

Audré suppressed a sigh and waited for the rest of the story to follow.

“I must admit that Lucius was terribly wrong about the entire affair.” Narcissa confessed soberly. “Morpheus Malfoy’s wife certainly wasn’t a seductress. She is a respectable woman.”

“I am happy, Narcissa, that you came here and helped us to clear the misunderstandings.” Audré smiled and taking Narcissa’s hand, resumed their walk.

“I did not do it all by myself, Audré. You and your children helped us.” Narcissa professed openly, “Especially the way you dealt with Draco this evening, Audré. Draco is my son. I know him. I know how stubborn he can be when he wants to. And he kind of melted like a butter before you!”

“You flatter me, Narcissa.” Audré chided her sister-in-law. “I did nothing but listened to what he had to say.”

“But _I_ didn’t do that.” Narcissa countered, “And I _am_ his mother, Audré. When you said that you wanted to find out what happened in the real, I thought you were playing tricks with Draco, to calm him. I do that too, when I sense that he doesn’t want to listen to me. But when you brought that Pensieve, I realized that you were serious from the beginning.”

“I _was_ serious from the beginning, Narcissa, dear. How could I not be? What if it was a _real_ hallucination and Draco needed better treatment?” Audré asked and felt Narcissa shudder, “But as it happens that it was not the case. Draco was not hallucinating. That boy, with that looks, is somehow _related_ to Draco and I’ll not rest until I find out what _that_ is.” she said determinedly.

“But…” Narcissa looked doubtful and apprehensive.

“Don’t worry, Narcissa, dear.” Audré smiled at her sister-in-law, assuring her, “Morpheus might not be with us but his brother’s family is and I’ll take care of our extended family.” she smiled mysteriously.

•••••

The last time Draco drew something or anything that could be qualified as a drawing was before Scorpius died, which was almost two years ago. Now, as he sat down by the reading table with a piece of paper and a pencil, he discovered, to his pleasant surprise that his hands were still in perfect working condition. He could still draw a face and soon Draco was lost in his work.

If he had thought that drawing a sketch like this could be a challenge, it was nothing compared to the mixture of feelings he experienced while he made Adrian’s sketch – awe, tenderness and a deep craving. Drawing Adrian was like making a self portrait for the boy was a miniature Draco Malfoy in a pair of blue jeans, a red and white striped T-shirt and a blue cap. Occasionally, Draco looked up and checked his own reflection in the windowpanes, trying to remember every single detail of that innocent feature with great care. He worked all night and by the time the first rays of sun were visible in the eastern horizon, he was done.

He presented the sketch to the rest of the family at breakfast. His mother seemed relieved that her son was slowly getting out of his grieves and praised the sketch whole heartedly. Audré, on the other hand, admonished him slightly for not sleeping at night but otherwise praised his work most earnestly. Lillian looked awestruck and Julian simply nodded, impressed.

“You should start drawing again, cousin.” He said, buttering his baguette bread amply and shoving it into his mouth, earning a reproachful glare from his sister, Lillian, who watched her brother eating like a walrus. “You…will…be…fam…ous…” he talked between chewing, “…in…no…time…”

Armed with his sketch, Draco soon left for the Tuileries Garden and tried to find out the exact location where he had met Adrian. It was somewhere outside the one of two entrances that led to the famous French garden. Carefully, he followed his track from the Orsay Museum and after twenty minutes of walking, stood on the spot where he and Adrian had bumped into each other.

Draco crouched and touched the pavement where the boy had been lying after colliding with him.

“Scorpius! Adrian!” He murmured, gently caressing the spot as if trying to reach the boys through time and space.

Their names somehow gave Draco a strange strength and he stood up after a while, determined to scour the place thoroughly. Tuileries was a vast place with lots of visitors and it wasn’t an easy job. But nothing would stop a Malfoy like himself from getting what he wanted. The sun rose and appeared in the mid-sky, the crowd in the garden grew larger but Draco displayed no signs of tiredness. He went from shop to shop, vendor to vendor and showed them the sketch, asking about the boy. Most of them shook their heads and mumbled that they haven’t seen the boy. Draco was wondering if he should spend the afternoon outside the entrance and check every boy that went in and out when a vendor, selling baguette sandwiches, told Draco what he needed to know.

“That kid comes ’ere with ’is mother.” He told Draco in heavily accented English, as most French couldn’t pronounce the English ‘H’. “They usually sit around the Round Pond.” he showed him a round pond inside the garden.

Draco looked at the direction the vendor had pointed. Tuileries, with its vastness, had two large ponds, one of them being round and the other, octagonal, on its two entrances. The Round Pond or _Grand Bassin Rond_ was at the entrance where Draco had entered the garden from the Orsay Museum.

“Give me a baguette sandwich.” Draco asked the vendor and paid him with a fairly large bill from the Muggle money he carried. The vendor was about to return him the change when he indicated him to keep it. Both the sandwich and the bill were part of subtly worming out more information on Adrian.

“So…” Draco, like his cousin, took a large bite from the delicious French sandwich and gulped it down, “…he comes here with his mother.”

“Ouai! (Yeah!) The vendor nodded. He was a simple looking man with a good natured smile on his lips, “The boy draws nice pictures.” He commented happily.

Draco’s heart beat faster. Adrian could draw nice pictures! So his aunt was right in her assessment and he was on the right track.

“Why do you want to know about this boy?” the vendor asked Draco this time. The crowd of his customers was slowly thinning out.

“I am looking for a child model to draw a portrait.” Draco lied flatly and took another large bite from his baguette sandwich. “I met him yesterday and he’s perfect. Can you tell me where I can find him?” he asked the vendor.

“You won’t find him ’ere now.” the vendor shook his head and continued making more sandwiches with fresh tomato and cheese slices.

“Why?” Draco demanded, his eating stopped abruptly.

“Are you English?” the vendor asked Draco instead, frowning now.

“Yes.” Draco tried hard not to lose his patience with the vendor. Why were these French people always so curious about other people’s business? Besides, he was a Malfoy and they never talked to Muggles; it was hurting his dignity a lot.

“You drew that picture?” the vendor indicated at the sketch.

“Yes, I did.” Draco gritted his teeth, “Now tell me why I can’t find the boy?”

“Well  ’e went to a ’oliday with ’is family.” The vendor seemed to sense Draco’s impatience and replied this time. “To Brussels. For two weeks.”

“How do you know?” Draco’s throat went dry. The vendor, surely, couldn’t be right. Draco was so close to getting Adrian.

“ ’e came ’ere yesterday and told us. In fact, ’e told everyone.” The vendor replied simply, as if it was obvious, “ ’e was so ’appy!”

“Brussels?” Draco whispered and bit his lips, “Can you tell me where he lives?”

“No.” The man shook his head. “But they call ’im Adrian and ’is mother is Jean.” he added.

“Jean?” Draco repeated after the vendor, “You mean the woman who was with him yesterday?” he asked feverishly.

“No. That’s his mother’s friend, Eva.” the vendor said. “She’s strange, you know. Does not know how to use a cell phone.” He laughed at his own joke.

Draco knew better not to ask what a cell phone was. It was something the Muggles used to talk to each other.

“What about his father?” he asked the vendor next, holding his breath, “I mean I should ask for his father’s permission if I want to use the boy as a model.” he explained with a convincing smile.

“ ’is father?” the vendor frowned and turned to a man who was selling ice-cream next to him. “Jacques, ’ave we met Adrian’s father?” He asked him and other vendor shook his head. “I don’t think ’e ’as a father.” He turned to Draco and said, “ ’is mother, Jean, is a single-parent.” 

 “Merci.” Draco broke the Malfoy tradition and thanked the Muggles before leaving for his uncle’s Château. Before he left, he bought two baguette sandwiches for his cousins, Julian and Lillian.

•••••

Hermione was feeling relaxed as she took her hot bath. It was afternoon and they were finally in Brussels.

A happy Adrian with a slightly irritable looking Eva had returned to the Delacour Residence the previous afternoon, from their excursion at the Tuileries. Hermione was too busy to enquire anything from Eva and she soon left for her home. Mother and son then had a nice evening talking about the upcoming train journey and after supper, went to bed early that night. It took Hermione quite some time to lull Adrian into sleep, so excited was he!

The journey from Paris to Brussels would normally take an hour and twenty two minutes in Thalys and Hermione arrived at Brussels with her companions in due time. Adrian, on his first ever journey by train, spent it all by almost gluing his little face to the compartment window to watch the outside scenery. He was going to recount it all to his best friends, Louis and Gina, with detail. Hermione read a book on Cursed Diamonds while Eva, Edmound and Gabrielle chattered happily.  

Gringotts Belgium has already invited Hermione as their _Guest of Honour_ and they arranged for her stay in the most luxurious hotel in Wizarding part of Brussels. The hotel- ‘le Trône Royal’ or ‘The Royal Throne’ was housed in a former Royal Palace and Hermione could not but appreciate Belgian Gringotts’s choice any better.

Adrian and Gabrielle spent the rest of the day exploring the palace hotel while Hermione left for Gringotts to present herself to the Chief Goblin. On her arrival, the Belgian Gringotts honoured Hermione beyond her imagination with the Chief Goblin presenting her with a diamond studded small knife, which she kept safely out of Adrian’s reach. Later, she returned to the hotel and decided to take a bath to clear the tiredness of the journey from her body.

Hermione smiled. Everything was fine now, everything was perfect. They were out of the Malfoy’s reach and she was never going to meet that man again. Ever.

Hermione lifted her left hand from the water and looked at the writing. Mudblood, it said.

Bellatrix must be turning in her grave now, seeing a _Mudblood_ being honoured like this, she thought. Contended, Hermione finished her bath and left the bathroom. She and Gabrielle were staying in a double bedroom suite with Adrian while Eva and Edmound were sharing another double bedroom suite just opposite theirs. Her son was back from his little visit around the hotel and was now lying on their bed examining a tourist book. As Hermione entered their bedroom, drying her hair with a towel, Adrian looked up, his eyes round and sparkling.

“Look, Mama!” he jumped out of bed and came running to her, clutching the tourist book. He showed her a picture of a large palace, “When are we going here?” he asked her.

Hermione knelt down and kissed her son tenderly on the cheek. “We’ll start from tomorrow, little rabbit.” she smiled at him.

“I love you, Mama!” Adrian declared happily, hugging and kissing his mother. He seemed very relieved that his mother was giving all her time to them and not to her work. Hermione was happy too as she saw her son’s eyes twinkle with unspoken excitement and glee.

She would do anything to keep him that way: innocent and happy.

 

•••••

Back to his uncle’s Château Draco covered the distance between the Apparition Point and the building, running and burst into the parlour. His mother, aunt Audré and cousin Lillian were seated there, talking idly.

“I am going to Belgium!” he declared to the astonishment of the occupants.

“Belgium?” Narcissa looked scandalized, “Why? What happened, Draco?”

“His name is Adrian, his mother’s name is Jean and she’s a single parent. They left for Brussels this morning, for two weeks.” Draco slumped in a sofa and said in a hurry, breathing heavily. He gave Lillian the baguette sandwiches he had bought. She took them with a puzzled look.

“How can you be so sure, Draco?” Narcissa demanded, exchanging alarmed looks with Audré.

“The vendor who sold me those sandwiches, told me.” Draco rubbed his forehead and indicated at the sandwiches Lillian was holding with an incredulous look. “Aunt was right.  This vendor was a huge help. He told me that the woman you saw in my memory was actually Adrian’s mother’s friend. Her name is Eva.” He let out all the information he has collected, “Adrian can draw very well, mother. I am going to Brussels, mother. I am going there.” Draco stood up and paced impatiently, “Adrian _is_ my son, I am sure now. I just want to know ‘how?’.”

“But how are you going to find him there?” Audré spoke at last, her voice calm. “Brussels is a large city, Draco and we still don’t know whether Adrian is a Muggle boy or not.”

“He is not a Muggle.” Draco declared triumphantly, “That woman, Eva, she doesn’t know how to use a cell phone. The vendor told me. That means she is a witch and Adrian is a wizard. ” He proclaimed.

“Well, supposedly, Adrian _is_ a wizard, Draco. But that does not answer my question. How you are going to find that small boy in that big city?” Audré rephrased her earlier query.

“I am Draco Malfoy, Aunt Audré.” Draco turned to his aunt and declared proudly, “And Malfoys always get what they want. Don’t worry. I have a very good plan.”

Audré eyed Draco for a moment. “Very well, nephew.” She nodded solemnly, “But you are not going alone. I am coming with you.” She announced.

“Audré?” Narcissa exclaimed, shocked.

“Maman!” Lillian dropped the baguette sandwiches.

“You are most welcome.” Only Draco grinned. “You and I, we’ll make a decent team together.”


	11. Chapter 11: The Net.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belongs to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblances are co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this story.

** Chapter 11: The Net. **

**S** everal letters were exchanged between the Delacours in Paris and the holidaymakers in Brussels during their first week. The first one was from Hermione, writing in detail about the train journey, the hotel arrangements and the diamond studded knife she was presented by the Chief Goblin of Belgian Gringotts. The second letter from Gabrielle was brief and mostly talked of the fascinating Muggle things she saw on her way and during their tour of the city, Brussels. The last letter was from Adrian and he sent his love to grandpa Gustave and grandma Apolline with a colourful drawing of the Palace Hotel, with its many turrets and different coloured flags, waving in the wind. Apolline spent an entire morning showing the drawing to all her neighbourhood proudly and asked her husband, Gustave, to have it framed so that she could hang it on their sitting room wall to showcase her little grandson’s immense talent.

Meanwhile Hermione received a letter from Gustave informing her that he has paid a visit to St. Joan’s Institute and was assured by its Headmistress, Sorceress Marianne, that they would have a seat reserved for Adrian in their nursery for the upcoming term. It relieved her immensely. After all she was Hermione Granger and what could be more exciting to her than the day her son started going to school?

The second letter she received was from Alexis and it contained something she was badly in need to know.

After recovering from her shock in the bathroom almost ten days ago, Hermione finally told the Delacours everything from the Malfoy vault she was asked to curse break against her good conscience to the incident at Geccemp’s office. Gustave had sighed while Apolline decided to find out more about Draco and the purpose of his sudden visit to France. It was a well known fact that the British Malfoys were no big French lovers. Besides, the animosity between two brothers, Morpheus and Lucius, wasn’t something very secret. Then why would Lucius Malfoy’s son suddenly decide to visit his long forgotten uncle’s family?

Alexis came forward to help. In his letter to Hermione, the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister told her that Draco Malfoy has indeed declared himself and his mother to the _Office for Magical Tourists,_ a place where every foreigner visitor must present themselves before they were allowed to live in France. They were currently staying at his uncle’s family home, the Château de la Grange-Bléneau, and the man who had accompanied Draco to Geccemp’s office, Julian Malfoy, was the Second-in-Command in the Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione finished reading Alexis’s letter and decided to obtain more information about the family after she finished her Brussels tour.

Like any major European capital, Brussels had its own charm. Most people here liked to converse in French; like Paris, the city housed some wonderful public and private parks and must-visit cafés. It was a delightful mixture of past and present. Hermione, her first preference being her son, decided to visit one the most famous landmarks of the city, _Manneken Pis_ , on the first day of their Brussels tour.

_Manneken Pis_ or _the_ _Little Man Pee_ was a landmark small bronze sculpture depicting a naked little boy urinating into a fountain's basin. At first sight, anyone would think that the idea of making a urinating statue was weird but as soon as they see it, they admit that it was good place for laugh. Hermione’s little man, Adrian, however, reacted differently. Like Gabrielle and Eva, he didn’t burst into a laugh. Round eyed, he observed the shamelessly peeing statue for several minutes and then started shooting rapid fire questions at Hermione, the famous Gryffindor know-it-all.

“What’s it called, Mama?”

“Why is he naked?”

“Why is he peeing?”

“Why is he peeing in public?” and,

“Why doesn’t he go to a toilet?”

Following his question, Eva and Gabrielle broke into another round of raucous laughter and Edmound shook his head in disbelief, muttering a sighing remark on Muggles and their tastes on subject matter of sculptures.

But Hermione was just fine. She knew her son has gone after her when it came to asking questions and like a good student she has already done her homework well. She crouched down beside Adrian, and told him what she has learned from the tour guide book that morning. It was a story about a little boy called Duke Godfrey III of Leuven.

“A long time ago,” Hermione started and Adrian listened to his mother’s story, wide-eyed, “…there was a battle between two armies. You know what a battle is, little rabbit?” she asked him.

Adrian nodded, conveying that he indeed knew what a battle was.

“So, on one side, there was the troop of this two-year-old Lord.” Hermione showed Adrian the statue of the peeing boy, “And they were battling against the troops of Lords of Grimbergen. Before the battle started the boy Lord’s troop decided to put him in a basket and hang the basket from a tree.”

“Why?” was the inevitable question that followed. Even for a five and a half year old boy, Adrian knew that a battle field was a not a place for two-year-old kids.

“Because the boy’s army wanted to see their lord as they fight and feel encouraged.” Hermione replied, delighted that her son was finding the weird story interesting, “Do you know what happened next?”

Adrian shook his head. “Someone hurt him?” he tried to guess, his eyes widening if possible, a bit more.

“No, little rabbit.” Hermione smiled kindly and kissed her soft-hearted son on the cheek, “During the battle, the boy suddenly peed on the troops of the Lords of Grimbergen from his basket in the tree and they lost the battle.” She finished with a happy smile.

This time, Adrian laughed out loud. In fact, he laughed so much that Hermione, for a moment, feared that he might suffocate. Once he stopped, she bought him a chocolate ice-cream and the boy licked it happily but laughing little now. “Mama, once more, Mama, once more.” He kept tugging her skirt and imploring her to repeat the story of the peeing boy lord.

Hermione has brought with her a Muggle camera for she was not that good with the magic ones and with it, she took several photos of her little man with the famous _Peeing Little Man_. Adrian enjoyed his little excursion so much that he hardly wanted to leave the place and asked Hermione to revisit the peeing statue again, the next day.

Finally after recounting the story of the peeing young lord six times in a row, Hermione almost tore Adrian away from the place and returned to Palace Hotel for lunch.

“You should have seen Adrian that day, Jean, in the Tuileries." Eva commented wisely once they all settled down for lunch in the Grand Dining Hall of Palace Hotel. Edmound and Gabrielle were sitting a bit away from them and exchanging a pleasant conversation. Hermione noticed that the young quarter Veela was blushing slightly.

“Are you listening, Jean?” Eva patted on Hermione’s hand, her eyes on her brother and Gabrielle.

“Yeah?” Hermione blinked. From its look, there was something going on between Edmound and Gabrielle and it would be insensitive to puncture their private conversation at this point. Besides, she could ask Gabrielle once they returned to their suite. “Yeah, I am listening.” She turned to her friend and assured her, “You were saying something about my little rabbit’s visit to Tuileries.”

“He told half the place that he is going to Brussels.” Eva ruffled Adrian’s curls fondly, looking somewhat relieved that Hermione decided to leave the matter of Gabrielle and Edmound, for the moment.

“Really, Adrian?” Hermione asked her son, amused. “You told everyone that you are going to Brussels?”

“I did.” Adrian squealed happily. “I told them that my Mama is taking me to Brussels. On a train.”

“He’s so adorable!” Eva smiled sweetly and doted on him, “It’s no wonder that everyone wants to touch him. Even strangers.”

“Do they?” Hermione frowned, drawing her son closer. “Adrian, little rabbit, you don’t talk to strangers? Hm?” she asked him sharply.

“No, Mama.” Adrian piped innocently, “That day in Tuileries, a man asked my name. But I did not tell him. You forbade me.” he reminded his mother like an obedient son. “Then Aunt Eva came and brought me home.”

“Jean, I told you, Adrian a nice little boy.” Eva supported her little nephew.

“I know.” Hermione smiled and stroked Adrian’s silvery-blonde curls. She always loved to encourage her son for his good acts. “Let’s eat, everyone. I am starving.” She announced and gave a side glance at Gabrielle and Edmound’s direction. Gabrielle blushed, if possible, even more and Edmound cleared his throat and looked away casually.

Thus the first few days of Hermione’s Brussels tour was passing quite well. In the mornings, she would take Adrian and others to visit famous Belgian landmarks and after lunch, while Adrian took a nap, she visited Gringotts to attend the workshop on Cursed Diamonds. She returned to her hotel in the evening and after a hearty supper, read Adrian a story or two. It soon became clear to her that Gabrielle and Edmound were interested in each other. Since when it started Hermione didn’t know but she suspected that it could be the reason as to why Gabrielle had blushed when Hermione had asked to take her to Brussels with Edmound and Eva. She has noticed Edmound casting furtive looks at Gabrielle’s direction when he thought no one was looking and the young Veela blushing with a shy smile in return. Gabrielle, Hermione discovered, was a bit different from her elder sister, Fleur, when it came to handling men; she was shier.

With the numerous thoughts of Adrian’s new school, their holiday, her workshop and Gabrielle and Edmound’s blooming romance, if Hermione had thought that she could shake off the feeling of Draco Malfoy’s ominous presence from her life, she was wrong. Since the fateful of day of their near encounter in Geccemp’s office his thought was always haunting her, like a piece of grey cloud darkening the sky before the storm. Draco Malfoy, his arrogant attitude, his words, and his voice were always in her thoughts like a stubborn leech, sucking out blood from her body.

•••••

Draco, as a Malfoy, loved traveling and Brussels was proving to be a good city for a short tour. The weather was loads better than England with no rains and a sunny sky smiled outside, welcoming everyone to enjoy it.

But Draco hardly cared about the weather. It was their third day on Brussels and he was in his suite, sitting with Audré who was peeling some apples and cutting them into pieces. He was sitting motionless in his couch, with two names continuously spinning inside his head: Adrian and Jean, Jean and Adrian.

Who was this woman and how come he fathered a boy with her without his own knowledge? This one question kept playing inside his head day and night, night and day, in sleep and in wakefulness.

“Here, Draco.” a voice called and Draco came out of his reveries. Looking up he saw, Audré was offering him some apples in a small saucer. Draco took it and nodded, giving her a silent word of thanks. She took another apple from the fruit basket, to peel it. Watching her work silently, Draco took a bite from his apples.

It was something that marveled Draco about Audré: the woman was never too curious about things that didn’t concern her, another most un-womanish trait. Being surrounded by the likes of Pansy Parkinson and other Slytherin girls, Draco has always taken women, in general, as very nosy about other people’s business. Even his own mother wasn’t an exception.

Following his announcement to visit Brussels in search of a boy he knew nothing of but a name, Adrian, Narcissa had insisted that she wanted to join him and Audré in it. Julian, as soon as he returned home and finished both the baguette sandwiches Draco had bought from the vendor at Tuileries, also expressed the same desire. Lillian even asked Draco to wait until the school, St. Joan’s, opened after the summer vacations so that they could look for Adrian there.

But Draco did not take heed of any of those advices. He was badly in need of a few answers and couldn’t imagine waiting two minutes, let alone a month. Besides, he knew why they were all insisting to accompany him and Audré to Brussels. Narcissa was curious to know with whom his son has slept while being married to Astoria and his cousins were curious to see the boy from up close and he, Draco Malfoy, wasn’t going to let that happen until he found out what he looked for: Adrian and his mother, and how she conceived the boy without his knowledge.

With the help of an International Portkey, Draco arrived at Brussels two days after Adrian did. He made arrangements of their stay in the only hotel that was suitable for the aristocrat pureblood families like them. It was called _Le Trône Royal_ or _The Palace Hotel,_ the only five Star Wizarding Hotel in Belgium. It was from here that he planned to execute the first move of his carefully constructed plan and if everything went well he would have the boy by Saturday next.

Like every country with a magical population, Belgium had its own Wizarding marketplace. It was in the magical part of Brussels and called _Laan Grote Markt_ or _Old Market Alley_. The place was almost like the British Diagon Alley and French Ruelle Les Halles, housing Wizarding bank of Gringotts, numerous shops and hotels of different standards. A very old hotel by the name of _The Town Hall_ acted as the portal between the two worlds: Muggle and magic.

Upon his arrival, Draco didn’t waste a moment to pay a visit to the largest apothecary in the _Laan Grote Markt_. From there he bought a large phial of Polyjuice Potion. That potion was also an essential part of his plan which he would be sharing with his aunt only.

“Aunt, don’t you want to know what I plan?” he asked Audré, finishing the apple pieces she had given him. Draco was curious to learn the reason behind Audré’s mysterious silence. She was the only one who hasn’t probed him about the boy’s mother or how Adrian came to be.

Audré exhaled deeply but didn’t look up from her job of cutting and coring the apples. “Do _not_ think, nephew that I already don’t know what you are planning.” She said solemnly.

“Meaning?” Draco frowned. Was Audré saying that she already knew his plan?

“You have bought some Polyjuice Potions, Draco.” Audré looked up from the apples and fixed her eyes on Draco’s this time. “You plan to disguise. Since you came here you have been visiting some of the well known painters of Belgium. You have also taken a tour of the Hotel Ball Room.” She was smiling now; to Draco’s Malfoy eyes, that smile was more than a Malfoy smirk. “You are planning, if I am not guessing it wrong, to hold a Drawing Competition.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. Audré has discovered all about his plans just by observation? What was this woman?

“You are right, Aunt.” Draco was impressed beyond any measurements. He placed the empty saucer on the table between them and crossed his leg, talking seriously now. “I plan to use our weakness. Adrian and I, we are both good at art. So, I thought why not use it as a trap to lure him to me? The Drawing Competition I am planning to host will be for all magical children from age five to ten because Adrian isn’t younger than five or older than ten. To encourage parents to bring their kids there I’ll announce a big sum that no one has ever offered. On that day, when the children and their parents arrive, I will take some Polyjuice Potion, disguise myself and wait, so that when Adrian comes, I can see both the boy and his mother, Jean.”

Audré frowned, seemingly considering Draco’s plan. “But there is a flaw in the plan, nephew.” She said, “You are forgetting that Adrian is a _visitor_ in the city. He is _not_ a local of Brussels.” she pointed out, “What if he misses the grand invitation?”

“I have that planned too.” Draco replied, gaining his confidence before Audré slowly. This woman was making him fine tune his plan and that was good. “Adrian’s mother, Jean, is a single mother. I have heard that they are mostly very poor or in dire need of money. You should have seen Longbottom’s grandma, aunt. She, too, was a single parent and had such a bad taste! I am pretty sure she didn’t have enough money to buy better clothes. So, I am going to use that weakness - money too. Adrian’s mother, being a single mother, must be staying with my son on one of those _cheap_ hotels in _Old Market Alley_ , because she can’t afford to stay at hotels like this.” Draco’s skin crawled at the idea, “So, I’ll have those Hotel authorities informed about this competition. In fact, I will pay them separately to ensure that they convince every single child and their parents who are staying at their hotels, to attend this competition.”

Audré let out a sigh and smirked, “How very Malfoy of you, Draco! Using money to get what you want?”

Draco sensed a subtle jibe in Audré’s comment but didn’t mind. She was right; it _was_ the Malfoy trait to use their money to get what they wanted. Not for anything did his father, Lucius, donate ten thousand galleons to St. Mungos, and Draco was Lucius’s son and heir.

“What are you going to do to Jean once you find the boy, Draco?” Audré resumed cutting the apple and asked her nephew.

“I don’t know.” Draco admitted with a sigh. In all honesty, he didn’t know what he would do once he discovered the boy’s mother’s identity.

“You sure you don’t know anyone by the name of Jean?” Audré’s tone was casual.

Draco shook his head, somehow eager to discuss the topic with his clever aunt. “Yes, aunt, I am sure. We didn’t have anyone by that name in entire Hogwarts. I am not the kind who’d get drunk and bang any woman in that state. I never cheated on Astoria, I swear on my dead sons and wife.” He replied firmly, “Besides, Adrian is five or six. That means he was conceived during or after the War. My father was alive at that time and you know what a great French _lover_ he is, aunt. Do you think he would pat me on my back and say ‘son, you did well’ if I slept with a Frenchwoman?” 

“Of course, he wouldn’t.” Audré replied airily.

“I just don’t know how that blasted woman did it without my knowledge!” Draco cried in anguish and left his seat, starting to pace his suite, “It’s impossible! How can she take _my_ seed, impregnate herself and I, the father of the baby, didn’t catch an air all this year? What is she planning to do with my son? Is it a conspiracy against the Malfoys? Does she want to claim our money using Adrian? Or ask for a compensation? Or defame me?” he rubbed his forehead, “Makes me want to wonder if father was right about the Frenchwomen being seductresses.”

“Your father must be a very _noble_ _Englishman_ to make such tasteful remarks on the Frenchwomen.” Audré was unabashed by Draco’s sudden outburst.

“Aunt!” Draco turned to Audré, very serious, “Please don’t take it personally. I told you, I do _not_ share my father’s view. You and Cousin Lillian are just fine. Okay?” he held up his hands in surrender.

Audré neither nodded nor replied. “I think you still have a lot to do on that plan, Draco, if you want to find out who this Jean is.” She said and finished cutting the apples.

“I do.” Draco settled on his seat again and took a piece of apple from Audré’s saucer. “I still need to talk to the Manager of the Hotel, visit the other hotels and newspaper offices.” He said taking a bite from the artfully cut piece.

Audré took a bite from her pieces.  “Let’s do it together.” She offered and smiling, Draco nodded.

The Manager of Palace Hotel, Leopold Duquesnoy, welcomed Draco and Audré with a wide smile. He was a small round man with a small butterfly moustache but a big temper, the reason his employees feared him like a raging bull. But he was always polite with his guests.

“Bonjour Monsieur and Madame Malfoy!” he bowed and ushered Draco and Audré into his office. Like the most of the Palace, the room was spacious with beautiful paintings adorning the ceiling and with a grand chandelier. Leopold took them to his desk and graciously drew a seat for the lady. Audré took it with an elegant nod while Draco his seat, displaying his most characteristic Malfoy disdain.

“I hope you are enjoying being our guest, Madame and Monsieur.” Leopold took his seat behind the desk and rubbed his hands with an oily smile. “Are all the services up to your standards?”

“Yes, they are, Monsieur.” Audré assured the manager with a tiny nod. “We are not here to complain, Monsieur.”

Leopold looked relieved. “Is there any way I can help you then?”

Draco was about to reply when he felt Audré squeezing his hand gently. There was something in her touch and he stopped abruptly, looking at her, slightly perplexed.

“Yes, you can.” Audré’s air was no less than a reigning queen as she lifted up her chin and replied, “I hope you know about our family, The Malfoys?” She asked, “We run some charitable trusts and patronize quite a few orphanages.”

“That I know, Madame.” Leopold nodded feverishly.

“We are here to organize a drawing competition for the magical kids and the money raised from it will be donated to the Belgian Wizarding Orphanage.” Audré continued with a charming smile of hers, “Can we ask for your kind co-operation?”

“Of course! Of course! Why not, Madame?” Leopold exclaimed and almost left his seat, “The Palace Hotel has always been a great supporter of charity and what can be better than helping those poor orphans? We are here, ready to provide you with any assistance you might need.” He announced firmly.

“Merci, Monsieur.” Audré inclined her head in acknowledgement, “My nephew, Draco will share the details of the plan with you.” She indicated Leopold to Draco, “But there is a condition.” she held an index finger in the air, “We don’t wish our name to be disclosed. The Malfoys believe in silent charity.”

Leopold looked impressed beyond any kind of description. “As you wish, Madame Malfoy.” He said, “I assure you that your name will not be disclosed.”

“Draco?” Audré turned to her nephew with a satisfied smile, “Please proceed.”

Draco, who has been listening to his aunt until this point, his mouth slightly open, couldn’t thank his deceased uncle for his choice of a wife. Audré Chombrun Malfoy, with all her brains, did know how to fine tune a plan.

•••••

Hermione was lying and breathing deeply in the smell of freshly mown grass while Adrian sat and drew beside her. It was Wednesday and after spending their last few days in the more crowded landmarks of Brussels, she decided to spend the day in a quiet park, enjoying the summer.

Hermione had asked Gabrielle to join them too but the quarter Veela informed her that she would be going to a boat ride with Edmound. It was clear now that Gabrielle and Edmound were dating. Even Eva was tactful enough to leave the couple be. She went out to meet one of her old Beauxbatons friends. There was no way Hermione would spoil the lover’s fun. Mother and son, Hermione and Adrian, came to the Brussels Park, a park right across the Royal Palace of Brussels,the official home of the King and Queen of the Belgium. She lied down on the grass under the shade of a tree and asked Adrian to do whatever he pleased. The boy immediately took out his colouring pencils. He was going to make a drawing of the Royal Palace for his dearest Grandpa Gustave.

Hermione sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

Love, Romance, Passion, Marriage – these words held no meaning in her life anymore. Not that she has never fallen in love. She has, with Ron. But that was a past she chose to leave behind six years ago when she found out that she was pregnant with Draco Malfoy’s child. She had missed two consecutive monthly cycles and was extremely nauseous when Fleur advised her to take a pregnancy test.  Hermione spent the day crying when the test appeared positive. Like everyone in this situation, she had also wanted to terminate the pregnancy but when she touched her stomach and imagined the presence of an innocent life growing inside, unaware of the circumstances of how it came to be there, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to do it. In a battle between love and innocence, Hermione Granger chosen innocence; she chose _her_ Adrian over _her_ Ron.

Hermione’s hand moved over her stomach. It was the same stomach Draco Malfoy kicked mercilessly before he violated her. Ironically it was the same stomach that bore him a child he did not know. It was the same stomach that swelled over nine monthes to accommodate her baby.

Hermione has always heard from her mother and aunt that pregnancy was a blessing and even believed so. But her pregnancy was a Cruciatus Curse. There were nights when she could not sleep peacefully because Adrian kicked inside her. There were days she could not eat anything because smell of foods made her want to throw up. There were times when she had not been able to walk without stopping and clutching her aching back. But she endured everything for the sake of a child born out of vengeance because she, eventually, fell in love with the baby that was hers and hers only. And while new mothers had their husbands and parents to support them to go through all these – she had no one. No parents. No husband or partner. Only the Delacours, her friends and her baby.

“Mama?” Adrian called and Hermione came back to reality, startled. “Yes, dear.” she asked him with a smile.

“Look!” Adrian showed his mother the drawing he has made. Hermione lifted herself from the ground and took it. The Royal Palace that Adrian has drawn looked better than its real counterpart. “It is the most beautiful picture I have ever seen.” she praised the boy’s beautiful work.

“I want to sent it to Grandpa.” Adrian implored. He looked almost angelic under the ambient light of the shade of tree.

Hermione reached and took her son in her arms. She kissed him on the forehead and smiled. “Okay. We’ll send it to him as soon as we return to hotel.” she replied.

“Let’s go then, Mama.” Adrian stood up immediately.

“Let’s go.” Hermione agreed and stood up.

They walked back to the Palace Hotel and on the way Hermione bought ice-creams. Mother and son finished it by the time they reached the entrance. Hermione, holding her son firmly by one hand, went straight to the reception to retrieve the keys to her suite. The receptionist, a witch in charming black and golden robes, greeted her brightly and handed the keys. Hermione has not moved more than two steps, holding Adrian’s hand, when the receptionist called her again.

“Mademoiselle Granger?” she called after Hermione and leaving her place behind the counter, walked to their pair. “You have a son!” She declared happily, indicating Adrian.

“Yes, I do. Thanks for noticing.” Hermione said, slightly confused.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to offend you, Mademoiselle.” The receptionist witch apologized with a charming smile. “It’s just that we are hosting a Drawing Competition in our Grand Ball Room and the money will be donated to the Belgian Wizarding Orphanage.” She informed Hermione and handed her a brochure. “The presence of the child is highly requested.” She smiled at Adrian.

Hermione nodded, finally realizing the intention behind the strange query. “It’s okay. My son will be happy to attend it for a good cause.” she said on Adrian’s behalf who jumped up and down in joy.

“Thank you, Mademoiselle.” The receptionist bowed slightly, “The details are on the brochure.” She indicated at the paper Hermione was holding. “If you need any further assistance or information, you can contact us. We will be happy to help our esteemed guests.”

“Merci.” Hermione nodded and left for the International Owl Post Office, holding an extremely excited Adrian, tightly.

•••••

Audré was examining the Friday issue of Belgian Newspaper L'Echo and found what she was looking for. It read:

_Drawing Competition!!!_

_The Royal Throne, Brussels, Proudly Hosts a Drawing Competition for kids aged five to ten!_

_The winner will receive 10000 galleons!!!_

Detailed description of the event was written under the announcement.

She had to admit that it indeed was one of those carefully devised plans that only Malfoys could come up with. Her nephew has made sure that every single Wizarding newspaper in Belgium published the announcement of his Drawing Competition every day on their front page. He even had brochures printed and distributed in every hotel of _Laan Grote Markt,_ from zero to four stars. Draco has spent last three days contacting the authority of the orphanage, hotels, newspapers and notable patrons of Brussels. All in all, her nephew has kept no stones unturned.

Audré folded the newspapers and wondered what would happen when Draco discovered the identity of the boy’s mother? Would he sue her? Or would he pay her with money and buy the boy from her?

There was a knock on the door and Audré sighed. “Come in” she said.

Draco entered her suite, looking tired but otherwise contended. “Good afternoon, aunt.” he walked to her and took a seat.

“Good afternoon, nephew.” Audré greeted back with a tiny nod. The man sitting before her had two days worth of unshaved beard. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were wrinkled at places with soot on them from all the frequent Floo visits he has been making. “I hope you are done, nephew.”

“I am.” Draco slumped on his seat and declared, “I have talked to all the authorities and they say that tomorrow’s event will be a huge success.” His grey eyes glinted, “There is not a child age five to ten who doesn’t know about this event! And they are waiting eagerly for it!” he rubbed his hands hopefully. “There is no way that Jean won’t let my Adrian come. I can’t wait for tomorrow, aunt, I just can’t wait!”

“But ten thousand galleons, Draco?” Audré smirked, “It is an absurd amount of money for such a little boy.”

“I know, Aunt. But surely a Malfoy is worth more than that.” Draco said proudly.

“Money can’t buy everything, Draco.” Audré said evenly, “You cannot buy a child no matter how much you pay.”

Draco gave Audré a sharp look. “I beg to differ, Aunt. Money can buy everything if the buyer is strong enough. We _bought_ my father’s freedom with it when the War was over.” he said firmly, “But I am not after buying Adrian.” he shook his head, “I am after his real identity. I want to know how his mother conceived him without _my_ knowledge. And I am willing to pay even fifty thousand galleons for that.” he said determinedly.

“And what will you do if you find out that Adrian is not your son?” Audré demanded. “Will you take back the money? Have you considered that possibility?”

Draco gave Audré a look of wild disbelief. “Aunt!” he cried, “Adrian _is_ my son. I am sure! He has my looks. He has my drawing talents. Even you yourself said that.” he reminded her. “There is no other way.”

“I did not say he’s your son, Draco. I said he looked a lot like you.” Audré corrected him. “He can be related to you by other means. What if you find out that Jean was actually your father’s secret mistress and Adrian is actually your brother and not your son?”

Her words hit home because Draco bit his lips, looking unsure and apprehensive.

“But why would father have a _French_ mistress?” he asked her, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know, Draco.” Audré replied flatly, “Maybe Jean is not French. Maybe she was sent to France on purpose, to give birth to the boy and live there, away from you and Narcissa’s eyes. It wouldn’t hurt Lucius to have another spare heir, you know. It would never hurt a man to have an extra heir, in case the original one somehow died and the family fortune passed to others, like my son and daughter, since they are Morpheus’s children and rightful heirs too. What are you going to do then? Kill the boy and his mother so that they can’t claim your throne? Or tell Narcissa that her beloved husband had a mistress and a secret child? What? Draco, what?”

“If Adrian is my brother…” Draco gritted his teeth, “He is an illegitimate one and therefore holds no right over my property. I am the rightful Malfoy heir. But if he is my son, aunt, which I am sure of,” he fisted his hands “…I just want to know how his mother conceived him using _me_.” he spat.

“Please, Draco, don’t get me wrong!” Audré tried to calm her nephew, all the while astonished that the man believed in her claims that Lucius could have a mistress, “My purpose was not to vex you. Just as Narcissa doesn’t have any grudges against my children, I don’t have any against you, nephew. I am here to help you, take care of you. I don’t want you to be broken again if you find out that Adrian is not your son.” she comforted him. “Sometimes it’s good to have reasonable amount of hope.”

“Let’s just _not_ hope so.” Draco sighed wearily.

“Draco, I think you should take some rest now.” Audré looked at her nephew’s tired form. “Go to your suite, take a bath and sleep. I will wake you up at lunch time. How about taking the lunch in the Dining Hall? We haven’t been there since we came and I heard that it’s a nice place. Later, if you feel like, we can enjoy the afternoon Brussels.” she offered him with a kind smile.

Draco exhaled through his mouth and nodded silently. “Very Well, then.” he stood up and left her suite.

•••••

“Adrian! Look when you are eating.” Hermione snapped when her son dropped his piece of steak for the third time. It was Friday and they, Hermione, Adrian, Eva, Edmound and Gabrielle, were having their lunch at the Dining room of the Palace Hotel.

“But Mama, I am thinking!” Adrian protested and pouted his lips.  

“No thinking when you’re eating.” Hermione warned her son. She was very particular when teaching her son how to eat in public and didn’t want the other diners to think that she wasn’t a good mother or taught her son eating manners.

“But I need to think!” Adrian exclaimed, looking sullen. “I don’t know what I will draw tomorrow!”

“Adrian?” Hermione tucked the white napkin around the boy’s collars securely, “You will get plenty of time to think after the lunch. Okay? Now eat your food properly or Mama will not let you go anywhere tomorrow. Understood?” she arched an eyebrow and Adrian, nodded as he went back to his food reluctantly.

Hermione liked taking her meals at the Hotel Dining Hall. It somehow reminded her of Hogwarts and its Great Hall. But today the place was full of guests who seem to have no other topic of discussion but the upcoming Drawing Competition and Ten Thousand Galleons prize money.

Hermione found it highly irritating. That drawing competition was a charity function to help the orphans. But instead of highlighting that, everyone was talking about the prize money. She wanted to finish her lunch and leave as soon as possible but Adrian was not helping the matter. He kept dropping his food unceremoniously.

Finally after what looked like ages, he finished his lunch and Hermione left the Dining Hall looking relieved.

•••••

The famed Dining Hall of Palace Hotel was buzzing with a low hung excitement as Audré and Draco entered it for lunch. They took an empty table in a corner and when the waiter arrived Draco ordered for their lunch.

Draco did not like eating with common people. Malfoys did not dine with commoners. Though the hotel was fine by their standards and the food was acceptable, he preferred to take his meals in the sanctuary of his suite, delivered there by room service.

But this afternoon he could not reject his aunt’s request. After their conversation about Lucius having a mistress unbeknownst to his wife, Draco was feeling extremely nervous. Not that he believed it. He knew that his father truly loved his mother. But that point about having a spare heir to prevent Morpheus’s son from claiming the Malfoy Manor and property wasn’t completely absurd either. Draco knew his father and knew what he was capable of doing in the name of saving the family fortune. It was his mother, whom he was concerned about; though Narcissa was becoming insistently bossy and nosy these days, Draco cared for her and wouldn’t let anyone hurt her even the slightest.  

It was then that Audré had come up with the idea of lunch at the Dining Hall and Draco, wanting to relieve his tensions, accepted it.

The food arrived in no time and they started eating. Draco looked around casually to see what people were talking about so excitedly. He was most pleased to hear that they were talking about the Drawing Competition and more importantly about the prize money. It made him feel proud and contended. Smug, he was about to return to his food when he suddenly noticed –

“HEY!” Draco yelled and before he knew, was on his feet, rushing for the entrance of the Dining Hall. He neither cared nor realized that people were staring at him or that he was narrowly saved from colliding with one of the waiters carrying a food tray. The ceiling high, wide entrance door was almost hundred feet away from where he sat and in leaps and bound, when Draco reached it, there was no boy with silvery blonde curls, leaving the Hall.

“What happened, Draco?” he heard his aunt’s voice. She has, undoubtedly, followed him there.

“Adrian! Adrian was here! I saw him!” Draco looked around wildly but except for the five Floo fireplaces that were empty and an elderly couple who was giving him a very startled look, there was no one. “He was here, aunt! I swear! He was here!”

“Okay! Okay!” Audré tried to assure her nephew that she believed him. “Monsieur, have you seen any little boy leaving the Dining Hall?” She asked the elderly couple who shook their head. “Are you sure, Draco, you are not mistaken?” She asked him again.

Draco neither had the time or patience to reply to Audré’s query. He tore down the hallway, at the direction of reception counter and roughly pulled out the sketch he had drawn a week ago. He shoved it under the nose of one of them. “Have you seen this boy?” he asked breathlessly.

The receptionist wizard and witch looked at the photo, scandalized, and nodded.

“Where is he? What’s his room number?” Draco demanded, almost screaming.

The receptionists exchanged startled looks and turned to Draco with a polite smile. “We are very sorry, Monsieur, but we can’t provide you with that information.” The wizard in plush black and gold robes replied evenly, “It’s against the hotel policy to disclose any information regarding its guest’s privacy.”

“To hell with your damned privacy!” Draco slammed on the counter, “I can buy ten hotels like this. Do you know?” He was about to throttle the wizard to give him Adrian’s room number when a feminine hand ran over his disarrayed hair, stroking it gently. Suddenly all his rage and desperation was gone.

“I sincerely apologize for the incident on my nephew’s behalf.” It was Audré and her voice was calm and pleasant, like the song of a dove, “He has recently lost his son and is very depressed. I will appreciate it, highly, if you don’t inform anyone about it.” she requested the receptionists.

“It’s alright, Madame.” The witch nodded, looking relieved that Audré was there to handle her out of control nephew, “We understand.”

“Merci.” Audré smiled and taking Draco by his hand steered him to one of the Floo fireplaces. “Come, Draco. Let’s go to your room.” she said and just as a mother would gently guide his sleepy son to his cot, she brought Draco to his suite, where he slumped in a chair and hid his face in his hands. No one spoke for a very long time.

“He was so close, aunt!” Draco cried after a while, “He was so close and I missed him!”

“It’s alright, Draco.” Audré was gently massaging Draco’s scalp, making him feel very relaxed, “Now we know that he is coming tomorrow.”

Draco let his aunt take care of him. “Aunt…do you think… that I should… go and stand… by that door?” he mumbled, all his exhaustion, desperation and helplessness slowly seeping out of his mind on Audré’s gentle touch, “He will… be there… for dinner.”

“You can, of course, nephew.” Audré replied calmly, “But don’t you think that that will be highly inappropriate for a Malfoy?”

Draco sighed. Audré was right; standing by a door until the dinner would be highly inappropriate for a Malfoy. He had no other choice but to wait until tomorrow when Adrian arrived at the Drawing competition he has carefully planned for only him for one week.

“For now, nephew,” he heard Audré’s voice which sounded like a lullaby, “Why don’t you have a nap and dream him there?”

“Yes!” Draco whispered and before he knew he was lost in a realm that he so much sought: peaceful sleep.


	12. Chapter 12: The Little Rabbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belongs to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblances are co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this story.

**_ **Acknowledgement:** The watercolour painting of two rabbits on a white background and a patch of grass was originally made by renowned British watercolour painter, David Harmer, who has more than twenty years experience in this field and has very kindly illustrated this chapter's most vital painting. He runs a blog full of his rich collection at [offtoafineart.com](http://offtoafineart.com)  and his personal website is [davidharmerwatercolour.co.uk ](http://davidharmerwatercolour.co.uk). I'd highly recommend my readers to check them out. _ **

 

**Chapter 12: The Little Rabbit. **

**H** ermione was glad that her Gringotts workshop on Cursed Diamonds ended early on Friday afternoon. It meant she could have an extra hour to visit the Belgian Muggle supermalls and buy Adrian a surprise gift.

It was her son’s first time in a big platform as this and just as his mother would have been, Adrian was nervous, as nervous as a five and half year old boy could be. He kept browsing picture books to decide what to draw for the Drawing Competition. Seeing him like that, Hermione’s friends came forward to help. Eva suggested that Adrian drew the Royal Palace of Brussels just as he had drawn it for his beloved grandpa Gustave. Gabrielle suggested that he drew a winged mermaid; Hermione found it strange that she wasn’t haunted by what happened during the Second Task of Triwizard Tournament. Edmound, by his standards as an animal lover as big as Hagrid, crossed everyone and advised Adrian to draw him riding a dragon. Eva and Gabrielle had roared in laughter, hearing it.

Hermione, as a mother and an avid fan of her son’s artworks, tried her best to comfort Adrian, telling him that it was a friendly competition and being a winner or loser didn’t matter; that they were not participating for money but to help the orphans. But his answer was very different from the one she had expected.

“I want to make my Mama proud.” Adrian had said, his grey eyes round and sincere, “Everyone will say that Adrian’s Mama is the best.”

Hermione had been speechless for a very long time, following that honest statement. It was unnerving that her son, her five and half year old son, could think of making his mother proud, from such an early age. How many boys his age would consider doing that? Hermione wondered. Therefore, before she left for the week’s last day of workshop after their lunch was over, Hermione decided to honour her son by giving him a surprise gift. Adrian loved surprises.

When shopping anything for Adrian, Hermione always preferred Muggle stuffs over magical ones. For one, she did not want to influence Adrian’s immature magic by any external magic; for another, he was too young to handle such things. The only magical thing he possessed was his toy broom and he was allowed to use it only under supervision to ensure he never got hurt.

Hermione left Gringotts, Belgium around four o’ clock in the afternoon and after leaving _Laan Grote Markt_ , the Belgian Diagon Alley, went straight to the nearest Muggle supermall. There she browsed the Kid’s stuff section and after half and hours of careful scrutiny, found what she was looking for: a box of Muggle colouring pencils.

The medium sized black box read ‘ _Faber Castell Watercolor Pencils_ _:  Albrecht Dürer_ _Studio Box of 120 – Finest Artist Quality’_ and contained three trays, each one with forty colouring pencils. The price tag said it was three hundred and thirty Euros, far more expensive than the normal ones Adrian used but Hermione didn’t mind. After all, all her money was for her son and he was the best son in the world. Feeling happy, she picked up the box from the stand and proceeded towards the counter, to pay.

It was almost six o’ clock in the evening when Hermione finally finished her shopping and decided to call it a day. She has spent the afternoon to buy some gifts for the Delacours, her goblin boss Geccemp, her intern Claudia and for Adrian’s best friends, Louis and Gina. As she walked back to the Palace Hotel, the summer air of city of Brussels was heavy with the scent of flowers and freshly brewed coffee. Hermione smiled. Life was beautiful when Adrian was on it.

Adrian was sitting, cross-legged, on the windowsill of one of the high-arched windows and examining a book when Hermione arrived in her suite, hands full of packages from her shopping. He reminded her of her own self, when she was young and carefree, sitting on a windowsill, cross-legged and reading a book.

“Mama!” Adrian exclaimed seeing his mother, left the book and jumped down from the window sill, running to her, “You went for shopping?” he asked her, enthusiastically.

Hermione nodded. She knew it was customary for her son ask what she has brought for him whenever she went to shop.

“What did you bring for me?” the default question followed. Adrian was giving her packages a very curious look, wondering whether it was all for him.

“I’ll show you, little rabbit, but before that promise Mama that you will not jump like that ever again.” Hermione warned her son solemnly, “Okay, Mama’s love?”

“Why not?” Adrian piped, tiptoeing and trying and to reach the packets she was holding above her head.

“Because you might get hurt.” Hermione replied and placed the packets on the highest mantelpiece. Adrian, like most kids his age, had an unfortunate habit of tearing open every packet he found, regardless to whom it might belong.

“But I am a man now!” Adrian protested and flexed his arm, showing Hermione his muscles. “I am going to be six.” he said as if trying to remind her of the unnoticed fact.

Hermione snorted and took him in her arms before kissing Adrian twice on both cheeks. “Well, _Mr. Going To Be Six In January_ , you may turn five hundred years old, grow a long silvery beard and become a very famous wizard. But to your mother, you will always be her little rabbit.” she said matter-of-factly and handed him the gift box. “Kids never grow old for their Mamas.”

“For me?” Adrian decided to leave the topic of his manhood and accepted the gift, his innocent grey eyes lighting up. He immediately started peel off the brown paper wrappings with his well practiced hands. Smiling, Hermione carried him to the nearest divan and sat there.

“COLOURING PENCILS!” Adrian’s exclaim almost brought down the ceiling of their suite. “YOU BOUGHT ME COLOURING PENCILS? I LOVE YOU, MAMA!” he declared happily and planted a big soppy kiss on Hermione’s cheek, hugging her tightly.

“Okay! Okay!” Hermione patted on Adrian’s back, almost thrown backwards by the force with which he hugged her. She loved these childish moments between them, when Adrian wouldn’t give her a kiss and she would have to coerce it from him, or when he would protest when she tickled him, or when he would laugh so hard that Hermione got panicked. It was perhaps what people called the bliss of motherhood, watching one’s child grow up, healthy and happy. What would Hermione not do to have Adrian like this, always?

“Let’s see what’s inside?” She offered brightly, once the Devil’s Snare hug was over and Adrian was calmer. “Okay!” He tilted his head, sat on Hermione’s lap, and examined the contents of the box with great care and interest. He opened the box, took out all the three trays and counted the pencils.

“That’s forty.” He declared, his eyes as big and round as marbles, as he finished counting the pencils of the first tray.

“So three times forty is?” Hermione asked, trying to teach some basic math to her son.

“Three times four is twelve.” Adrian replied, contemplative. “Now we add a zero. It’s a hundred… twenty.” He declared happy, “Hundred twenty!” he exclaimed, as if he couldn’t believe his ears, “I have hundred and twenty pencils!”

Mother and son, both were stunned; Hermione, because she hasn’t expected her son to solve that multiplication problem so easily and Adrian, because he never expected to own hundred and twenty colouring pencils. 

“Little rabbit?” Hermione kissed on Adrian’s forehead, feeling extremely proud, “Who taught you to multiply?”

“Uncle Alexis.” the boy replied happily, as he took out a few pencils and started drawing lines on a paper. “He taught me a trick, how to add a zero.”

“Uncle Alexis is a nice man.” Hermione admitted with a smile. Fleur’s elder brother, Alexis Delacour, was perhaps the most un-Veela-ish man Hermione has come across. He was a quarter-Veela by birth. But like his parents, there was no sign of pride in him. The Junior Undersecretary was a very simple man who loved Adrian like his own nephew. In Delacour household there was no differentiation between Hermione’s Adrian Granger and Fleur’s Victoire Weasley. 

“The shopkeeper told me that the colours will never fade in the sunlight.” Hermione told her son about the many aspects of his new colouring pencils, “I want my little rabbit to use it for the Drawing Competition tomorrow.”

“Yay! I will.” Adrian exclaimed again, closing the box and clutching it to his heart, as if it was a treasure. Feeling a great rush of tenderness, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and placed her chin on his blonde curl adorned head. Adrian, too, melted to his mother’s touch. Hermione wished that this beautiful moment would never end; she would love to spend the rest of her life like this: she holding her son and her son holding his new gift that she gave him. Life was here, with Adrian, with her son, with her soul and nowhere else.

“So? Have you decided what you want to draw tomorrow?” she asked him after a while.

The little boy looked up at her and blinked twice, rapidly, as if considering a very difficult problem. “I think I’ll draw something from that Hogwarts picture book.” he replied. “What about The Great Hall?” he asked for her opinion.

Hermione’s smile faded. True that she still loved her school and wanted her son to know all about it but Hogwarts was a closed chapter in her life. Every mention of that place brought out memories that were happy but painful enough to make her want to cry.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Hermione replied cautiously, not wanting sound sad. She knew her son would detect that. “Why don’t you draw something that cannot be found in books?” it was highly uncharacteristic for Hermione Granger to advise her son to not follow the _books_ , “How about something from your imagination?” she offered with a kind smile.

“What’s imagination, Mama?” her son piped, looking curious.

“Well, imagination….um…imagination is….” Hermione struggled to answer, “Imagination is a power to see or feel things that are not there.” She said and the little boy gave her a blank and confused look, “Normally when you draw something, little rabbit, it is present there, in front of you, your eyes and you see and draw. But when you draw something, anything by thinking about it - it’s called imagination.” she explained as simply as she could.

Adrian seemed to consider his mother’s answer for a long moment. “Like that drawing I made with you, me and my papa before our home?” he asked her, trying to deduce her meaning. “That was imagination?”

Hermione’s throat went dry. Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy and Draco Malfoy again! She sighed and looked down at her son who was looking expectedly at her, for an answer.

“Yes, little rabbit. It was an imagination.” Hermione replied firmly, ‘and it will remain that way.’ she told herself. Draco Malfoy was never coming back to her life. She has her son and they could build their own home together. There was no need of a man there.

“Adrian, what will you take for supper?” Hermione asked her brooding son, deciding to use the room service again. She did not feel like going down to the Dining Hall amidst the discussion of ten thousand galleons and who would win it.

But the boy did not reply.

“Adrian?” Hermione tilted her head sideways and examined his features. Adrian’s eyes were fixed on his new box of colouring pencils and were unfocused. She was astonished to see that he was frowning too.

“What’s it, little rabbit?” Hermione asked anxiously, thinking that she might have overreacted to his question.

“I don’t want to draw my papa tomorrow!” Adrian declared suddenly. “He left us. He loves purebloods. We are not purebloods.”

Hermione’s heart filled with such guilt that she wanted to strangle herself. She, by their small talk about his biological father, never meant to implant hatred in her son’s innocent and soft heart. Adrian was a good kid, as good as a mother could dream of. There was no point in spreading the poison she held inside her, to him.

“You don’t have to, my love! Not tomorrow! Not ever!” Hermione cried, her voice shaking with emotion, as she tightly hugged her son, internally wishing that the topic had never come up.

“Also, I don’t know how he looks like.” Adrian added, looking miserable.

Hermione hugged her son even tighter, “He looks like a human, little rabbit.” she replied. But he was not one, she told herself. Draco Malfoy, with all his money, power, blood prejudice and family influence was a monster, a monster that changed the course of her life, forever.

Adrian snuggled against his mother and Hermione held him protectively, like a mother rabbit did to her offspring. “Mama, do I look like him?” he asked her quietly. “Everyone asks me. Louis, Gina, Pierre, Adele.”

“No, little rabbit.” Hermione replied firmly. Adrian Thomas Granger, Hermione Jean Granger’s only son, could never look like her mother’s assaulter. “You don’t look like… him. You look like my little rabbit. You look like my son, _my dear Adrian_.” she gritted her teeth and stroked his curls until she felt him move again. A clock on the mantelpiece struck eight times. It was night, finally, in Brussels.

“I am hungry.” Her son declared and Hermione, feeling relived, smiled.

“I am going to Floo the Room Service and ask them to send up our dinner here.” she gave him one last kiss. “Okay, Mama’s love?” she asked.

“Okay.” Adrian tilted his head and piped.

As he went back to examine his gift and Hermione stood up to reach their fireplace, she wondered for the second time since that night they had talked about Draco Malfoy that where that blasted man was.

•••••

Draco, a _Malfoy_ , has never waited for anybody or anything in his entire life. He was the only child of his parents and they have brought him in a way that he was given everything without having to repeat his demands twice. Besides, he never considered anybody important enough to sit and wait for them, not even Pansy, his old girl friend. He was a Malfoy and the Malfoys never waited for others, they made people to wait for them.

Yet on his fourth hour of listless sitting across the Dining Hall door and waiting for Adrian, Draco was undeterred and patient. During this time, several waiters have come and asked for his dinner order but Draco waved them away, asking for noting but a cup of coffee. He had no appetite and nothing would go down his throat in this state.

Sighing once, he checked his wrist watch. It was ten thirty now. The boy must have decided to take his dinner elsewhere, he thought. To hell with his mother, that Jean! She must be the one behind this foul decision. Draco gritted his teeth; she would pay, she would surely pay once Draco found who she was and who Adrian was: his brother or his son.

He decided to wait another half an hour and see if Adrian, almost impossibly, turned up.

After he narrowly missed the boy that very afternoon, Draco’s sole thought has been Adrian and Adrian only. Under the enchanting spell of his aunt, he fell asleep in his couch and just as she had wished, had several dreams, all of them showing him running and reaching out for Adrian in every possible manner and yet somehow the boy was always out of bounds, no matter how hard he tried. He woke up, drenched in sweat and after taking a bath, spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the vast hotel and its grounds hoping to meet Adrian there. But Lady Luck didn’t favoured him and after finishing his long walk with a heavy heart Draco decided to wait for the boy in the Dining Hall, to catch him when he turned up there for dinner.

The clock chimed eleven times at last and noticing that the waiters were slowly starting to pack up, Draco left his seat. Adrian was not coming here tonight and he left the Dining Hall, cursing his luck under the breath and extremely disappointed.

•••••

How a small glass of milk could miraculously solve two burning issues, was witnessed by Hermione Granger on Saturday morning.

It was finally the day of the Drawing Competition and from the glimpses that Hermione stole from her balcony, it seemed like a National Treasure Hunt Day. Press, media, renowned wizards and witches of Belgium, and children from different walks of life, started coming like a relentless wave of sea as soon as it was morning. The Hotel Manage, Leopold, was almost mad from trying to have everything under control. By eight o’ clock, the crowd swelled so much that Belgian Ministry had to send a special troop of Aurors to prevent the magical population from being detected by the Muggles. To Hermione, it was almost like Quidditch World Cup. Such was the power of ten thousand galleons prize money.

To avoid the argument she had with Adrian over his unfinished glass of milk, Hermione took care to ask the room service to flavour her son’s milk with a completely different item today, for chocolate, strawberry, banana, peach and a list of ten other items were, according to her son, boring. Today was a special day for Adrian and she did not want to spoil it by arguing with him on such petty matters.

Adrian, to Hermione’s surprise, woke up early in the morning and did his ablution. Hermione followed him and after their baths were over, he sat down, like his mother would have done in this situation, to see if he could find a way around the problem of what to draw for the competition. The sight of her son looking through picture books and trying hard to make his dear Mama proud, melted Hermione’s heart. For a five and a half year, Adrian was trying his level best.

“Adrian, Mama’s love, come. Let’s have breakfast. It’s almost eight o’ clock and the competition starts at nine.” Hermione called her son, once the breakfast was served through the Room Service. This morning, she knew, the Dining Hall was bursting with the crowd of the extra guests that were visiting the Palace Hotel for the Drawing Competition and therefore, she preferred to take the breakfasts in their suite. Adrian was already nervous, there was no point scaring him more.

Adrian nodded, and leaving the book he was scanning for an idea, came and sat beside his mother. Hermione, Eva, Edmound, Gabrielle and Adrian, they all ate in silence, for the youngest of them all, Adrian, was too quiet. Hermione buttered a piece of bread and gave it to Adrian, who took a bite from it, uncharacteristically absent-minded. He then reached for the glass of milk and took a small sip.

“Mama, why does the milk taste different?” Adrian looked up at Hermione, noticing the change in taste at last.

“Because it has almonds.” Hermione replied with a wide grin, “I read somewhere that almonds in milk is good for our brain and asked the room service to add it. My little rabbit will need all his potentials today, won’t he?” she stroked Adrian’s silvery blonde curls fondly.

They stared at each other for a while, Hermione’s brown pairs on Adrian’s grey ones. Then the boy’s pair widened and slowly a smile spread over his pink lips, as if he has suddenly solved a difficult problem. “Little Rabbit?” he repeated after Hermione, looking happy.

Hermione exchanged astonished looks with the rest of the table who were silently watching them.

“What’s it, Adrian?” Gabrielle asked the little boy who finished his glass of milk in one go and wiped his mouth clean, triumphantly.

“It’s a surprise for Mama.” Adrian replied grinning from ear to ear as he planted a kiss on Hermione’s right cheek, “She is right. Almonds are good for our brains.” he declared to the surprise of a dumbfounded Hermione.

•••••

Draco Malfoy, clean shaved, hair neatly brushed and impeccably dressed in his black robes, was waiting expectantly for his guests to arrive in his suite. As the host of the event, he has taken the liberty of inviting the judges of the Drawing Competition – Sir Anton von Dyrk, Pieter Bruegel and Jacob Jordeans – for a cordial breakfast with him in his suite.

Malfoys never invited people for meals without some hidden purpose behind it. This invitation was not an exception either. Draco had important plans to execute.

His esteemed guests arrived precisely at eight o’ clock and after exchanging pleasantries, Draco led them to the carefully laid breakfast table.

“Please help yourselves.” He offered them like a generous host, keeping an eye on Jacob Jordeans. Unlike the other two judges, Jacob was younger and quieter. He was famous for making Group Portraits and led a quiet life even at the peak of his fame. He was just the kind Draco was looking for.

The breakfast ended successfully with the guests thanking Draco profusely for arranging the Drawing Competition for the Belgian Wizarding Orphans and like his late father would have done in this situation, he waved it all away, with a kind nod of acknowledgment. Only he knew what he was after. As the judges prepared to leave for the event in the Ball Room, he escorted them to door and promised to join them in a minute.

“Ah, Monsieur Jordeans!” Draco feigned remembering something when that particular painter was about to leave, “I just remembered that I wanted to ask you something.”

Jacob looked expectedly at Draco.

“Can I take a minute?” Draco asked Jacob with an extra cordial smile.

“Sure.” Jacob nodded to his generous host’s appeal and turned to the other judges who were waiting for him. “Please excuse us. I will join you in a minute.” He said and the judges gave a tiny nod before leaving Draco’s suite.

Draco was delighted beyond measures. Everything was going on according to his plans. He had Jacob now.

“Monsieur, I have heard highly of your abilities to draw Group Portraits.” Draco escorted Jacob to the couches around the fireplace and gestured him to sit.

“Merci.” Jacob nodded politely.

“I was about to ask you if you could draw me a family portrait.” Draco offered the artist with a smile. “I can draw quite well myself but I am certainly not as good as you are.” He confessed as modestly as a Malfoy could.

“You do?” Jacob asked, looking interested.

“Yes, I do.” Draco nodded as he offered Jacob a cup of coffee making sure he could smell its wonderful aroma. “Let’s discuss while you finish that cup.”

Jacob accepted Draco’s cup and unsuspecting, took a deep sip from it. Draco, on the other hand, took a small sip from his one. The clock ticked on. One minute, two minutes, three minutes…

Five minutes later, Draco was standing in front of a mirror looking at the reflection of Jacob Jordeans in his neat black robes. That was coffee was spiked with a Sleeping Draught and as he removed a deeply sleeping Jacob’s robes, he smirked, before donning it himself.

“Lesson number one: don’t drink anything a stranger offers unless you know what it is.” he whispered into Jacob’s ears as he arranged his limbs to a more comfortable posture. “Sweet dreams!” Draco winked to his sleeping doppelganger and left his suite on pursuit of his aunt.

Audré Chombrun Malfoy, in a simple but elegant green dress robe and pearl jewelry, was already waiting for her nephew in the lobby that led to the Hotel’s Grand Ball Room. Her blue eyes were smiling at those who passed and greeted her. Draco, in a great mood, tiptoed to her and whispered into ears. “Madame Malfoy, your nephew is sleeping.”

Audré turned her gaze to him and snorted. “A true Malfoy indeed; lazy and useless.” she smirked. “Let’s go to the competition, Monsieur Jordeans.” She gestured Draco to the entrance of the Grand Ball Room.

“After you, Madame.” Draco courtesied like a gentleman.

The Grand Ball Room, where the Drawing Competition would start in just fifteen minutes, was a vast hall with rich wood floor, stunning chandeliers and high arched floor-to-ceiling windows. It was already full of kids of different ages and Draco, as soon as he walked in, scanned for any sign of silvery-blonde curls.

“He isn’t here.” He tsk’ed and checked his watch. It was quarter to nine now. If Adrian was staying in the hotel, why was he late?

“Don’t worry. He’ll come.” Audré’s ears didn’t miss Draco’s annoyance, her own eyes on the entrance door, too. “Why don’t you go and tell the other judges that Mr. Malfoy will not be attending the competition due to some unavoidable circumstances.” She reminded him.

Draco nodded curtly and strode to the two judges, Sir Anton von Dyrk and Pieter Bruegel, who were talking to some patrons. He informed them of ‘his’ inability to attend the competition due to some unavoidable circumstances that showed up at last moment and conveyed them ‘his’ apology. The judges shook their heads, looking sad but otherwise accepted ‘Draco Malfoy’s’ apology.

Feeling nervous that the boy might have somehow fallen ill, Draco checked his watch. Ten minutes to nine. The Hall was now bursting with kids and yet there was no sign of Adrian. Where was he? What would happen if he didn’t turn up? Has Jean somehow caught wind that Draco was organizing the Drawing Competition and decided to leave it on the eve of the competition? But that was impossible! Leopold, the hotel manager, has made sure, that the newspapers publicized the event anonymously, leaving out the name of Malfoys. Except for the judges and some patrons, no one knew that the Malfoys were behind it all. If Adrian didn’t come, everything was meaningless for Draco. He didn’t care for the money he has spent to organize the competition. It was the boy he sought.

Following the judges, a very restless Draco was about to take his seat in the Judge’s Panel when he finally saw him. The one who brought him here, the one he was looking for; the one he has arranged everything for one long week.

Adrian entered the Grand Ball Room, through one of the corner doors, carrying a small black attaché. Contrary to their last time before the Tuileries, when he was in plain Muggle T-shirt, he was on formal clothes today: white shirt, black trousers and robes and a red neck tie. Draco stopped midway between standing and sitting, unable to stop himself from watching the handsome boy, mesmerized.

Adrian looked around the Grand Ball Room in awe, unaware that a man in the judge panel was closely inspecting his every move. He then moved across the room to find a quiet place and upon finding it, settled down on the heavily carpeted floor with two other kids.

Draco felt a cautious tug on his right hand and slumped on his seat, his eyes glued to Adrian all the time. He hardly listened to what the other judges talked about. Adrian was here and nothing else mattered now, not even the world, time, money, fame, or glory. He was so lost in watching the little boy making himself comfortable that he did not even realize when one of the patrons stood up to make the announcement.

“Bonjour, dear children!” the patron, Henri Matisse addressed the hall full of kids.

“BONJOUR, MONSIEUR.” The kid’s bellowed back, happily.

Henri Matisse, like an excellent actor leaned back, as if thrown backward from the collective greetings of kids and everyone, except Draco, laughed. “As we all know, we are here today to support a noble cause: to raise funds for the Belgian Wizarding Orphanage.” He started in a pleasant tone, “I believe that all of you are familiar with the rules but I am stating them once again. You must have noticed that we have placed Age Lines around the entry doors?” he asked and the kids nodded, some of them even raised their head to have a better look of the Age Line. “Children younger than five or older than ten can’t gain illegal entry.” Matisse explained to his young audience. “The competition will start sharp at nine o’clock and will finish at two o’ clock in the afternoon. You can draw anything you like but you can’t use magical colouring materials, which I believe you already know and have prepared yourselves accordingly.” He declared and repeated his announcement in French and Dutch.

“He looks more adorable than in your memory, Jacob.” Draco heard his aunt whisper calmly. It was she who had tugged him, when he was standing like a petrified statue, watching Adrian.

“He looks like an angel.” Draco whispered back, not caring to turn his gaze away from Adrian. The boy, by his innocence, has somehow cast a spell over Draco and he just couldn’t have enough of him.

The Grand Clock struck nine times and following a wave of Henri Matisse’s wand, a piece of drawing sheet appeared before of each participant. Draco watched in awe as Adrian reached for the drawing sheet he was given and attached it to the cardboard frame he carried. He opened his attaché, took out a black box and leaned over the drawing sheet, as if ready to strike.

Following the other judges, Draco left his seat and started walking around the room, feigning he was examining the children’s work. He passed rows and rows of children, sometimes standing to watch them work as if it was interesting. But from the corner of his eyes, he watched Adrian, who was seated on the east side of the Grand Ball Room, lost in his work.

Draco noticed how concentrated his demeanor was, how focused his gaze appeared and how fluidly his small hand moved across the drawing sheet. He walked faster now, eager to watch him from close.

‘The boy is a wonder!’- He thought as he finally stood behind him, unable to believe his eyes. Adrian was so young and yet he behaved so maturely. No fidgeting, no squinting at other’s works, no unnecessary chatting, he worked as if he was an accomplished artist. Draco’s hands ached to touch him, his silvery blonde curls, his small head, his soft skin, his small but elegant hands.

He crouched down and sat beside him as if trying to examine his work. He deliberately placed his nose behind his head and inhaled deeply.

Adrian smelled of peach and honeysuckle, Draco noticed, savoring in his scent. He wished he could trap it forever in his head to relish it afterwards. He opened his eyes and found Adrian looking at him curiously.

Their eyes met – as the sharp larger pairs bore into the innocent smaller ones. Adrian’s eyes were exactly the same as Draco remembered them to be – Grey, as innocent as a deer, as tender as a bud and as clear as water. His small cheeks were slightly pink, like the innocent blush of a bride and his pink lips were just like his ones minus the famous Malfoy sneer. His silvery blonde curls were an exact shade of his own.

Suddenly, the question Audré had asked rung inside Draco’s head and he closed his eyes.

_‘What if you find out that Jean was actually your father’s secret mistress and Adrian is actually your brother and not your son?’_

_‘Adrian is actually your brother and not your son?’_

Draco opened his eyes and found a curious Adrian staring at him, slightly confused. But he didn’t care. He knew now, in his heart, in his soul, in every fiber of his being that Adrian could never be his brother. Adrian was his son. There could be no other way. Ever.

Draco fisted his hands and stood up. If he sat there for another five minutes he might lose him mind. Besides, he couldn’t afford to touch Adrian here of all the places, where a single mistake could destroy his whole week’s work.

Draco resumed his walk, confident that the boy was born from his seeds. ‘He has sired such a wonderful boy!’ he thought proudly as he went back to his seat in the Judge’s Panel.

Now the question that remained unanswered was: who was Jean and how she conceived Adrian without Draco’s knowledge?

•••••

Hermione was patiently waiting for Adrian to return from the Grand Ball Room. It was almost two o’ clock and he was still there. The entrance for the participant children had an Age Line around it thus making it impossible for her to enquire about her son.

‘He’ll be alright.’ she told herself, ‘It is just a Drawing Competition, Hermione, not a Triwizard Tournament.’

The Grand Clock struck twice at last and a great rumbling noise came from the Ball Room as the kids started moving for the door, wanting to leave the place. Hermione prayed that they maintained discipline and didn’t stampede her little son. To avoid confusion, she has already instructed Adrian to look for her in the balcony that led off to Ball Room while Gabrielle, Eva and Edmound were stationed at various points to catch Adrian whenever he came out, following the great rush of kids.

“I am so worried, Gabrielle.” Hermione bit her lips when five minutes passed and still there was no sign of Adrian. “He’s so young! I hope other kids won’t hurt him.”

“Oh, Jean, don’t worry! Adrian will be just fine.” Gabrielle comforted Hermione with a kind smile, “I think I will use some of my Veela charms and get those men out of way.” she indicated at the Ball Room door with the Age Line that was being heavily guarded by some Aurors to ensure that the kids maintained discipline as they exited the Ball Room, “You stay and wait for Adrian here.”

Hermione nodded and Gabrielle moved towards the door of the Ball Room which was already packed with parents and children who have come out. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. Hermione checked Eva and Edmound and they shook their heads, Adrian still wasn’t out. She was getting dead worried when she spotted Gabrielle walking to her, grinning and holding Adrian firmly by his hand.

“Merlin!” Hermione exhaled in extreme relief and welcomed her son in her arms, as he came running to her. “Mama was so worried, little rabbit!” She embraced him, making sure that he was really back, “Why didn’t you come out when the bell rang?”

“They told to make a line.” Adrian replied, “I was in the end.”

“Okay.” Hermione smiled brightly, not wanting to probe the matter any further, “Tell me, now. How was the competition?” she asked as Eva and Edmound joined their small group and they started to leave the crowded hallway.

Adrian grinned. “It was awesome!” he cried excitedly, his grey eyes wide in joy. “A judge liked my drawing very much. He sat behind me and watched me work.”

“What did you draw, little rabbit?” Hermione asked, curious. They were almost at the entrance Hall now, and she decided to take a Floo to their room.

“I drew us.” Adrian replied simply, motioning between them.

“You mean you drew _me_?” Hermione stopped on her track, narrowly avoiding colliding with a boy who was coming from opposite direction. Did Adrian draw them standing before their cottage, just as he did a few weeks ago?

“Yes.” Adrian declared, “With….a…a…. imagination.” he finally remembered the particular word and replied.

Hermione was dumbstruck for the second time that day. She stared at her son for a long moment and decided that it was enough; they should take lunch now.

“I am starving.” Hermione tightened her grip around Adrian’s wrist and nodding, Eva, Edmound and Gabrielle followed her to the nearest Floo fireplace.

•••••

As per his plan, Draco has tried to catch a glimpse of the woman that might be Adrian’s mother, Jean. As soon as the Drawing Competition was over, he asked the kids to make a line and maintain discipline as they left. He purposefully placed Adrian at the end of line, so that he could catch a better look of the woman when most of the kids left and the crowd thinned out. But what he saw perplexed him. Surely that young girl with long silvery hair and pale but pretty features was not Adrian’s mother! She looked so young, like she was in her teens now. But, somehow, Draco felt like he has seen the girl before. He tried to remember but to no avail.

“Monsieur Jordeans? Monsieur?” someone called and Draco came out of his reverie. He was not Draco Malfoy here; he was Jacob Jordeans, the third judge. He should be in the judge’s panel now, examining the drawings and selecting a winner.

“Pardon?” he asked and turning around, saw that one of the patrons was calling him.

“Please come and see this.” the patron asked and Draco reluctant and his mind on the young woman he just saw, taking Adrian by his hand and leaving, examined the drawing he was given.

It was a drawing unlike anything he has ever seen. Two rabbits, one large and the other small, were sitting on a patch of grass field surrounded by flowers. The little rabbit seemed to snuggle against the larger one who held him protectively to her chest. Except for the grass and the flowers, everything else was white and yet the white rabbits were clearly visible against its white backdrop. All thoughts of Adrian suddenly gone and his mouth half-open, Draco’s eyes automatically darted to the name of the artist. Then he gasped.

There, in the upper left corner of the drawing was written a name in large and loopy handwriting: Adrian.

Draco was dumbfounded, surprised beyond measures, and too lost to voice a single word!

This was his son’s work! His son’s! Adrian’s!

“I have never seen anything like this before.” The patron commented in wonderment as he showed the drawing to the other judges who seemed impressed by it too.

“How old is he?” The judge named Sir Anton asked, looking as dumbfounded as Draco did.

“The list says he’s five years seven monthes and three days old.” one of the English patrons, Sir Thomas Cooper, replied, checking the magical list of kids and their ages.

“Incredible talent!” the second judge, Pieter, exclaimed. “Five and a half and he draws this? _This_?” his hand ran over the drawing, with extreme care and tenderness.

“Why?” Sir Thomas asked, not understand why the judges were making such fuss over a piece of drawing with nothing but two white rabbits on it.

“Because, sir, it’s very difficult to draw white things in a white background.” Pieter patiently explained to Sir Thomas, “It’s like dipping a piece of chalk in a glass of milk; the effect may be lost and the chalk in the milk might never be visible.” He looked at the picture again shaking his head in disbelief. “Amazing talent! This boy is going to be a very famous artist one day.”

“Monsieur Jordeans. Is this the winner?” he heard Sir Thomas asking him, showing everyone the drawing of the two rabbits.

Draco, at first, was unavailable for any kind of comment. He was standing there, staring at the air with a vacant expression, a result of too many thoughts whirling inside his head.

He son was gifted even more than he was and ever could be!

“Monsieur Jordeans? Jordeans?” the second judge, Pieter, asked this time and Draco felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Audré. She was asking him to respond.

Draco nodded, still unable to produce any recognizable voice.

“There is none better than this.” he heard Pieter commented, “Adrian! The Clear Winner!” he announced.

Finally, with the winner of the ten thousand galleons secured, the judges and patrons left the Ball Room for the Grand Parlour where a special lunch for the judges was being hosted. Audré, like a generous host, ushered them there. But Draco sat on his chair, still blinking, perplexed.

•••••

Hermione opened the closet, took out her best dress robe, Lilac with pale golden trimming around the edges, and threw it over her shoulders. The name of the winner for the ‘Drawing For Charity’ would be announced at seven o’ clock that evening and she wanted to attend it looking as best as she could. She knew that she was no beauty pageant but if tried a bit, she could look quite presentable.

Adrian was taking his nap on their bed. He seemed tired after the morning’s hard work and excitement. Hermione decided to visit the beauty salon of the Palace Hotel and see if they could do something about her unruly curls. She left Gabrielle in charge of Adrian and made her way for the salon.

•••••

The Grand Ball Room was bursting with kids, their parents and their noise as Draco entered it, quarter to seven. He was still disguised as Jacob Jordeans while the real one slept on the couch in Draco’s suite. All around him, press, newspaper and media personalities were waiting for the moment when the winner of the ‘Drawing for Charity’ would be announced. There excited chattering was almost deafening.

Draco took his seat on the raised platform that the hotel authority has erected and scanned the Ball Room for the boy who was behind it all, Adrian.

But he was still not here. Draco felt irritated. What would people think if the winner was late?

Audré, now in an elegant blue robes and silver brooch, was examining Draco with a curious expression on her face. “You look disturbed, Draco?” she enquired.

“He’s late.” he replied curtly.

“No, he’s not.” Audré checked her wrist watch. “There is still ten minutes left.”

Draco chose not to answer. Adrian was depriving him of his precious ten minutes to watch him, unnoticed.

Just as Draco was starting to lose his patience, he saw Adrian entering the Ball Room, carried by a man with three ladies on tow. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes to get a clear view, from his seat far from the door.

He could not recognize anyone except Adrian. His silvery blonde curls were too prominent. Draco was brought back from his reverie when a deep voice boomed on his right and he looked at it to find that Sir Thomas and Sir Anton were standing, side by side, there with wands directed to their throats.

‘ _Sonorus!_ ’ they said in unison and their voices amplified.

“Good Evening Witches, Wizards and my dear children! Welcome to the award ceremony of ‘Drawing for Charity’.” Sir Thomas’s announcement boomed across the Ball Room followed by the same announcement in French by Sir Anton.

“We are very proud and pleased at the huuuuggggeeeeeee response we received from all of you.” Sir Thomas said to the applauding crowd. “There were three hundred and seventy four entries for the competition and we examined each drawing with great care and dedication. We know the children gave us their best.”

Sir Anton said the same in French.

“After an agonizing struggle, we were finally successful in choosing an entry that was simple, innovative, and won votes from all three judges and patrons.” Sir Thomas gestured at the wizards and witches sitting on the judge’s panel. “Remember my dear boys and girls, no one lost in this competition. Everyone, who came forward to participate for a noble cause, won; you won the love of those orphans for whom this money will be used.” He smiled and nodded at the sea of children, “But for the sake of competition, there must be a winner. And winner is…” he held his speech for a moment and retrieved a piece of parchment from the inner pocket of his robes.

Draco did not notice he was holding his breath.

“Adrian Thomas Granger! Son of Mademoiselle Granger!” Sir Thomas announced to a deadly silent audience. “Adrian and Jean Granger, please come up on stage to collect your prize.” he requested.

Someone started clapping in the corner Adrian was sitting with his company and soon it infected others, the applause now thundering and echoing around the Ball Room like the word ‘Granger’ tore Draco’s senses apart and ripped through his soul.

‘It cannot be!’ he thought, shaking from head to foot, ‘It just cannot be!’ He looked bewildered as a woman in Lilac and golden robes approached the dais, carrying Adrian in her lap. She climbed up the few steps, walked past directly before Draco and reached Sir Thomas and Sir Anton.

She was none other than Hermione Granger.

Draco, forgetting to blink, breathe or even feel who and where he was, simply stared at her. This couldn’t be true! No! This couldn’t be true!

Hermione, meanwhile, was crying and smiling at the same time as she examined the winning drawing of her son, Adrian.

“This is my little rabbit, Adrian!” she cried, pointing the smaller of the two rabbits, “And this is his mother, this is me, Jean Granger!” she burst into tears and kissed Adrian feverishly.

From his seat, a demented Draco, finally realized what Adrian chose as his subject matter. Hermione holding and kissing her son Adrian was actually the mother rabbit protectively holding her little rabbit, Adrian. 


	13. Chapter 13: His Halfblood Heir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this writing.

** Chapter 12: His Half-Blood Heir **

**W** hat would be Hermione Granger’s answer if someone asked what was the best moment of her life so far?

The day she, Harry and Ron, with the helps and sacrifices of many others, finally succeeded in defeating Lord Voldemort and saved the Wizarding world from submitting to a tyrant?

The night all her sacrifices paid off and she became a mother?

When Adrian, with his teeny-tiny hands touched Hermione’s face and in a slightly muffled voice, called her ‘mama’ for the first time?

Or the day the toddler first stood up, holding Hermione’s index finger and took a few tottering steps beside his overjoyed mother?

If the question was asked before tonight, Hermione would have opted for the second one: the day Adrian was born and she became a mother from a woman. But after tonight, when the announcement, ‘ _And winner is Adrian Thomas Granger! Son of Mademoiselle Granger!’_ echoed across the Ball Room, the answer would inevitable be, this moment, the moment her son, her five and half year old son won the grand prize of the ‘Drawing for Charity’ competition.

The Ball Room of the Palace Hotel was full of children, their parents, press and media even before it was seven o’clock. Fearing that Adrian might get stampeded by the bigger folks, Edmound had ridden him on his shoulders, keeping him way above the normal visual field. Hermione, after her special treatment of unruly curls and donning her lilac robes that Adrian so much favoured, had arrived at the Ball Room with Adrian and the rest of her company, at ten minutes to seven o’clock. She wasn’t expecting her son might win or that it mattered if he didn’t win. Adrian had participated in that competition purely for the love of drawing, not for the love of fame, glory or prize money. Hermione, therefore, stationed themselves, with extreme difficulty in the furthest end of the Ball Room, with a good view of the dais and the judges, looking forward to enjoy the Prize Giving Ceremony and nothing else. But when the announcement came, the Hall, she and everyone around her, became very quiet.

 _‘Adrian Thomas Granger? Son of Mademoiselle Granger?’_ Hermione frowned, trying hard to comprehend what those words meant. Was Sir Thomas talking about her son ‘Adrian’? And was Mademoiselle Granger actually she, ‘Hermione Granger’? Or was it some other Granger who had a son by the name of Adrian? But that would be too much of a co-incidence if that happened, wouldn’t it?

“Mama, look! The boy who won has my name. Adrian!” Hermione’s Adrian commented happily; for a being so young and innocent, he was unable to comprehend the full magnitude of what that announcement meant. He too was here to draw, help the orphans and make his Mama proud.

Hermione, obviously, couldn’t remark. It seemed that in those ten seconds of her life, the Brightest Witch of her Age has somehow become the biggest moron.

It was Edmound who recovered the shock of the weird announcement first.

“No, Adrian!” he exclaimed suddenly and startled those who were around him. “The boy doesn’t have your name! The boy is you, Adrian! The boy is YOU! Adrian Thomas Granger!” he cried and clapped hard.

His words caused mixed reactions from the ladies. Both Eva and Gabrielle clapped over their mouths, their features showing no less shock than Hermione’s did. But when the crowd around them, following Edmound’s enthusiastic and rhythmic claps, started putting their hands together, Hermione was brought to her senses: her son, Adrian, indeed, has won the competition. There was no other Granger in this Ball Room with a son named Adrian. Sir Thomas was referring to her son, Adrian.

“Adrian and Jean Granger, please come up on the stage to collect your prize.” The second announcement by Sir Thomas put an end to all their confusions and taking Adrian in her shaking arms, with a heart full of emotions that she didn’t know herself, Hermione made her way through the throng of crowd for the raised dais, amid the blinding flashes of cameras and thundering applause.

“Mama, did I win?” Adrian piped, still in a state of disbelief. His eyes were round and full of innocent curiosity.

“Yes, little rabbit, you won.” Hermione’s own voice sounded shaky and foreign to her ears when she replied with a smile. The distance between their seats and the dais wasn’t long. But in such state, when the entire room was craning their necks, leaving their seats to have a better view of the winner of ten thousand galleons and reporters were barring their way to take as many photos of the winner as possible, the walk seemed too long, almost never ending. Hermione shielded her son’s delicate eyes from the light of flashguns and after what seemed like ages they reached the stage. With the confidence of a Gryffindor, she climbed up the few steps and walked past the row of judges, to the man who stood on the forefront, Sir Thomas Cooper.

The winning drawing has been propped on an easel and magnified for the better view of the audiences. People were already admiring the subtle artwork of a five year old boy. Hermione stood before it with Adrian, finally able to see how he had drawn them from his imagination. What she saw, made her speechless for a very long time.

Even the biggest enemy Hermione had could never blame her of being an avid critic of art. Paris with its numerous museums and art galleries didn’t hold more value to her than an old book shop or _Flourish and Blotts_. It was books that talked to her, not paintings. Brush strokes, colours, pallets, and canvases never held more appeal to her than a thick tome of good book, with its old and yellowed pages and the musty smell it emanated.

But tonight was different. Tonight, her son, her five and a half year old son, has won a Drawing competition and Hermione, though she didn’t understand the ‘A’ of art, upon seeing Adrian’s winner drawing of two rabbits, the larger one protecting the smaller who snuggled against it, realized what he had meant when he said that he has drawn them from his imagination.

In a way, Adrian has drawn them together: mother rabbit protecting her little rabbit. He got the idea from her addressing of him as _little rabbit_ during their breakfast that morning.

Hermione didn’t know how to express her mixed feelings. When she smiled, it was of joy, joy that her son has won such a prestigious competition. But she cried too, tears blinding her vision momentarily, for she missed her parents terribly; Mr. and Mrs. Granger surely would have clapped the hardest on their grandson’s success had they been here tonight. But above everything, Hermione felt grateful, that she was granted this little piece of happiness in the name of Adrian. She kissed him again and again and again, her vision blur from tears of happiness and misery, just to make sure that he was there and it was all real. Adrian, too, sensed his mother’s need of him and clung to her. The little boy was happy to make his mother proud, as he had wanted.

“This is my little rabbit, Adrian!” Hermione cried, pointing at the little rabbit in the drawing. All around them, flushes were clicking relentlessly, making the dais as bright as the daylight. “And this is his mother, this is me!” her voice failed her, “Jean Granger.”

Hermione, her heart tender from love and affection for Adrian, hugged him protectively, making them look just like the drawing depicted them as. They were here, together and Adrian has won. Could life be more beautiful? She wanted this moment to last forever and ever and ever.

“Mademoiselle Granger,” Hermione heard one of judges approaching their crying and smiling pair with caution. It was Sir Thomas Cooper, the English judge who shared names with Hermione’s father and son. “Please don’t keep the boy all to yourself. We are waiting.” He chided, showing her the long line of judges waiting patiently for their winner.

“Yes, allow us a minute too.” Sir Anton, the Belgian judge, supported his colleague. The old man was very lively and seemed having the time of his life here. “We will return him safely to your well protected arms once we are done.” He added with a playful wink and the crowd laughed. Hermione nodded and wiping her tears, set her son on the ground. Somehow, she was grateful that no one enquired where the boy’s father was or why she was _Mademoiselle_ Granger instead of _Madame_ Granger.

“Behave like a gentleman, just as I have taught you.” She instructed Adrian, “Shake hands, little rabbit, be polite and address them as ‘Sir’. Okay?”

“Okay.” The little boy, his innocent eyes still round and watering from the bright light of camera flashes, nodded and after Hermione, smiling approvingly, smoothed his robes and silvery-blonde curls and nudged him to the waiting judges, he gave her one last nervous smile before approaching them.

•••••

How Jacob Jordeans aka Polyjuiced Draco Malfoy came to stand beside Pieter Bruegel he didn’t know. Following the revelation of Adrian’s mother – Jean’s true identity, he was in such a state that he couldn’t recollect which pair of legs carried his body to its current position.

He watched as Hermione Granger, his most favourite Mudblood and Adrian, the boy he has hunted down for days and nights, came upon the stage and walked past him to Sir Thomas. There they saw the winning and meaningful painting and the woman kissed her son like a dying woman’s last resort. Draco was standing with the other judges who waited patiently for the winner to be freed from his mother’s protective embrace and receive his prize. He watched the pair as Hermione finally released Adrian, smoothed his robes and hair before allowing him to approach the judges.

Sir Thomas was the first on their row followed by Sir Anton, Pieter, himself, his aunt Audré and Henri Matisse. Adrian tottered a few steps forwards, as cautious as a timid little rabbit would, unaware of what to expect from his elders. His innocent grey eyes were wide in curiosity and fear; he gulped once as he reached Sir Anton, a man four times his size, and faced him as boldly as he could. Draco couldn’t help himself admire Adrian’s nervous bravery.

Sir Thomas bent down and sporting a wide and kind smile, shook hands with Adrian. He praised the boy’s work and asked him where he had learned it. Draco couldn’t hear what the little boy whispered into the veteran judge’s ears but Sir Thomas seemed satisfied with the answer. He then, to a hall full of thundering tumult of applause and blinding flashes of cameras, handed Adrian a gold trophy. It was shaped like a rabbit holding a brush under its front paw, the real time symbol of the winner. Adrian received it with a tiny nod of thanks, looked at his mother who nodded approvingly, and approached the next judge on line, Sir Anton.

The crowd laughed when Anton lifted the boy on his shoulders and together with Pieter, the man standing next to him, posed for the cameras, proudly. Adrian yelped, startled, but somehow recovered the shock when his mother assured him that it was okay. When he was put down on the ground and patted amply on the back, the little boy, with a pitiful tender sight, balanced the rabbit trophy on one hand and with the other, smoothed his hair and robe.

Draco held his breath. He was next.

In less than two steps his son came to stand before him and Draco, his moment of glory finally achieved and the darkness of past somehow forgotten, knelt down to level himself with Adrian.

Time stopped, noise faded, people disappeared from his sight as Draco finally sat before Adrian. This boy, this extremely gifted little boy, who looked exactly like his father, was his son mothered by Hermione Granger. His son with Granger, with the woman he had spent hating better part of his life? Merlin! Who would believe that? Draco couldn’t believe his eyes, his ears, his senses, even his heart which was beating so fast. But there was no denying that Adrian _was_ his son, that in those veins ran a blood that was purer than the purest, the Malfoy Blood. Surely it would counteract the presence of a lesser blood, the Mudblood’s blood, the Granger’s blood.

That being settled, there were so many things Draco wanted to do with Adrian: hug him, kiss him, talk to him, laugh with him, play with him and make him feel protected in his embrace just like Granger did; but he could do none. Instead he stared at him, transfixed and finally extended a trembling hand to shake hands with him.

“Merci, Sir.” Adrian piped in a dignified voice and took his bigger hand into his smaller one.

His voice was tender, lively and as innocent as his eyes, Draco noted. His warm hand felt like a small soft cushion and Draco feared that his masculine rough hand might hurt it just by mere touch. Careful not to cause any pain, he held Adrian’s hand delicately and asked him how he felt about winning the prize, simply to hear his sweet little voice again.

“I am happy that I could help the children of the orphanage.” Adrian replied, smiling broadly and the last thread of Draco’s restraint broke. He pulled the boy into a tight embrace and inhaled deeply in his enchanting scent.

He was so small, so fragile, so soft yet so alive for such a tiny being. Draco wanted to merge him with his body, feel his innocent soul and touch his tiny heart beating against his firm chest. Adrian was his son and he was lost in him. The boy has finally quenched the thirst of a father’s heart for a son.

With extreme difficulty Draco released Adrian after a moment and gestured him towards the other judges, feeling resentful. He stood up and gave his attention to the boy’s mother, Hermione Granger. So _this_ was _Jean_ Granger?

Jean was wearing a lilac coloured dress robe with pale golden trimming around the edges of cuffs and collar. She did not look like the bushy, brown, know-it-all she used to on her school days at Hogwarts. Instead, Draco noted, she looked mature and strong, as a woman would, with motherhood bestowing its gift upon her. Her brown eyes shone in pride and joy as she watched Adrian met the judges one by one and Draco could not help but feel extremely jealous, as he always did when that Mudblood beat him in every subject, be it exams or homeworks.

It was Hermione’s turn to shake hands with the judges and leave the stage behind her son. With a last glance at the winning drawing, she started shaking hands with the judges, first Sir Thomas, then Sir Anton, one by one, smiling and made her way across the stage. Within a minute she was standing before him.

Draco, in all honesty, didn’t feel like shaking hands with a Mudblood, most importantly the Mudblood he had raped. That was a past he has, with extreme difficulty, been able to bury deep inside his heart. Besides, the only emotion apart from jealously that Hermione Granger has always been able to produce in him was: anger.  Oh how he hated this woman! How she always made him angry and jealous! Draco controlled his temper with extreme difficulty. He was Jacob Jordeans here, not Draco Malfoy and if he didn’t shake hands with her, it would look very rude.

Draco, his features as somber as possible in such a situation, and his heart beating in his throat, offered Hermione his right hand. He fixed his glare directly with her brown pairs, trying so dominate her by it.

He knew that he did not look like Draco, but something in his attitude must have warned Hermione because the light in her laughing brown eyes faded. She looked down at Draco’s extended hand and looked up at him. Then with a small smile and an almost inaudible ‘thank you’ she moved to meet his aunt Audré without caring to shake his hand.

Draco fisted the unaccepted hand and returned it to his pocket, trying to appear as disdainful as possible. By offering her his hand, a Malfoy like him jeopardized his supremacy and the Mudblood, just like their last time, didn’t do well by not accepting it. Hermione Granger! That woman was still full of pride that didn’t suit her and needed to be shown her proper place. 

•••••

Hermione always trusted instincts and the way famous painter and one of the judges of the competition, Jacob Jordeans, glared at her, it sent a cold shiver down her spine. She has already seen him hugging her son like a dying man’s last embrace to his beloved and certainly did not like it. Her son was way too good looking and attracted unwanted attention everywhere she took him. The boy might be oblivious to his charm, but his mother was not. Hermione knew well enough about the ‘Evil Eye’ and did not want her son to be on the receiving end of such a malevolent glare. Her suspicions on the painter’s motive solidified as she faced him confidently and looked straight to his eyes. They were intense and burning – trying to reach for her soul.

There was something else there; something that she could not identify but guessed might be a deep sense jealousy and anger. For a split second she wondered why the painter would be jealous of Hermione. Was it because she was Adrian’s mother? Or was it something else? Trying hard not to frown or arch an authoritative eyebrow, Hermione looked down at his hands and the odd way he was offering it to her – like the tentacle of a Devil’s Snare and thought better to avoid it. Instead she thanked him coldly before moving to the next person on the row.

Once the pleasantries were over, Hermione took Adrian in her arms. She hid Adrian’s face in her bosom, left the stage and walked briskly to the company she had brought earlier, wishing to put as much distance as possible between them and the painter.

“This means celebration!” Edmound whistled and shouldered his way through the crowd. He, Eva and Gabrielle were trying to protect Hermione and Adrian, from onslaught of people who were trying to ask the little boy questions about his drawing.

“ _Mademoiselle_ Granger! _Mademoiselle Granger_!” one female reporter in bright acid green robes and peacock feather adorned witch’s hat squeaked, trying hard to catch Hermione’s attention. “Can you please tell us why the boy’s father isn’t present with you tonight?”

“Yes! Let’s go and celebrate.” Hermione did not trouble to reply the reporter’s query about Adrian’s father’s absence. She could feel the painter’s sharp eyes boring holes at her back even across the vast Ball Room and with the help of a group of Aurors who shoved the eager reporters away she made her away to the door, hastily.

•••••

_“What are you going to do to Jean once you find the boy, Draco?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“You sure you don’t know anyone by the name of Jean?”_

_“Yes, aunt, I am sure. We didn’t have anyone by that name in entire Hogwarts. I am not the kind who’d get drunk and bang any woman in that state. I never cheated on Astoria, I swear on my dead sons and wife. Besides, Adrian is five or six. That means he was conceived during or after the War. My father was alive at that time and you know what a great French lover he is, aunt. Do you think he would pat me on my back and say ‘son, you did well’ if I slept with a Frenchwoman?”_

_“I just don’t know how that blasted woman did it without my knowledge! It’s impossible! How can she take my seed, impregnate herself and I, the father of the baby, didn’t catch an air all this year? What is she planning to do with my son? Is it a conspiracy against the Malfoys? Does she want to claim our money using Adrian? Or ask for a compensation? Or defame me?”_

_“And winner is…Adrian Thomas Granger! Son of Mademoiselle Granger!”_

_“This is my little rabbit, Adrian! And this is his mother, this is me, Jean Granger!”_

When Draco followed Hermione and Adrian out the Ball Room, as if on trance, these words were ringing inside his head like the bells of a mental asylum. He saw the man, a brunette with strong muscular arms and kind features that somehow resembled Eva’s, to take Adrian from Hermione’s arms and leave the hotel carrying him on his shoulders, as a father, as he would have in this situation. The Aurors made sure they were not followed by reporters and press and after their group disappeared into the darkness of night, Draco, not even caring to bid farewell to the other judges, left for his suite.

How his legs carried him back to his suite, Draco didn’t know. Neither did he notice when his aunt had followed him inside.

“Draco, give me Jacob’s robe.” He heard a woman’s voice from his right. Perplexed, Draco followed it and found Audré standing beside him, looking very calm.

“Who is Jacob?” He asked her.

“Never you mind, Draco.” Audré held out her hand, looking patient, “Just take off the robe you are wearing.”

Not feeling like arguing, Draco complied and handed the robe to Audré, who immediately left for his bedroom. He, alone with his turbulent thoughts, slumped on the nearest seat and hid his face in his hands.

His thoughts? He rubbed his forehead wearily. What were his thoughts exactly?

What was his thought when he saw Hermione aka ‘Jean’ Granger?

What was his thought when he realized that she was Adrian’s mother?

What was his thought when he realized how Adrian was conceived?

And what was he left to deal with now?

In all honesty, as Draco has already admitted before his aunt, he had no answer. During the ceremony he was distracted by Adrian’s constant presence, keeping him from properly thinking about the magnitude of seriousness of the issue. Now that he was alone, all those thoughts broke loose and engulfed him.

It couldn’t be true! This was not happening to him!

That boy was born from violence?

And mothered by Hermione Granger, of all the people?

Her? Her!

Potter’s sidekick?

A Mudblood?

Draco shook his head in horror and leaned against the chair he was occupying. Mudblood or not he was never in favour of rape as a torture. But that Mudblood was an exceptional case. She had tried to kill his Pureblood mother with her own wand. She had taken her hostage and threatened to kill her. Draco still shuddered at the thought of what might have occurred had he not attacked her from behind and subdued her. He was filled with so much rage that he did not think twice before beating her mercilessly and violating her.

Granger deserved to be learned her place as a Mudblood - he had thought later. There was no need to justify his actions: he was uncontrollably angry with her and she was a Mudblood – two very basic reasons behind his actions.

But every action had a reaction and today the reaction of his past action had fallen on him: Adrian.

That innocent boy who looked just like Draco!

That boy for whom he had searched desperately, using his time, money, power, using everything he still had.

What was he supposed to do now? Take him or leave him?

“Well the answer is simple, Draco. Don’t you know?” a cold drawl asked and Draco looked up at its direction, startled.

“Father?” he whispered, breathless.

Lucius Malfoy, the ever proud man with flowing silvery blonde hair, was occupying the seat across him, looking cold and arrogant. Draco blinked. His father was dead. Then how come he was here?

“I came to help you Draco.” Lucius replied calmly, his grey eyes boring on Draco’s grey pair, who didn’t know when the last vestige of the Polyjuice Potion has left him.

“What help?” Draco asked, perplexed.

“I have noticed, for some time now, that you are wasting your precious time in the company of unworthy people.” Lucius crossed his long legs, looking very disappointed. “I am very displeased with your mother, Draco. Out of all the people in this world, she chose that French courtesan to visit for summer?” he shook his head in evident disbelief, “And _you_? First that French tramp and now this bastard? How dare you spend ten thousand galleons on that piece of shit?”

Draco left his seat, shaking from head to toe in fury. “Father, this is my money and I’ll spend it the way I please!” He bellowed at Lucius, “Aunt Audré is not a tramp! Not a courtesan! And Adrian is not a bastard and certainly not a piece of shit!”

“Pray tell me then, my dear son who inherited _my money_ , what are they?” Lucius challenged.

Draco fisted his hands. “Aunt Audré is an honourable woman and Adrian is my son.” He replied, seething.

“Indeed! An honourable tramp and a bastard son?” Lucius gave a mirthless laugh, “What a nice company for a Malfoy such as yourself!”

“He’s not a bastard, father! ADRIAN IS NOT A BASTARD!” Draco screamed in agony. Who was he trying to make believe that an illegitimate child was not a bastard? Him or his father?

“Then what is he considering what you did to his mother?” Lucius asked, looking highly amused and authoritative.

Draco faltered under his direct enquiry but regained his confidence immediately. “He has _my_ blood in his veins. He is my heir.” He declared firmly. “Adrian. Is. My. Heir.”

“Are you out of your bloody mind, Draco?” Lucius snarled, “That bastard piece of shit is a Half-Blood. And a rape child. Twice contaminated.” He looked extremely disgusted at the idea, as if he would vomit on the rug. “If you are so desperate for an heir, Draco, I suggest that you marry a Pureblood witch and _procreate_ a _pureblood_ heir. Don’t even think about polluting our noble blood line. We have preserved its purity for a thousand years and you have no rights to defile it by the kinds of that bastard rape child. Leave him and let that Mudblood to raise him.”

But Draco was not listening. He has made up his mind finally. He drew himself to his full height and faced his father defiantly.

“You’ll leave this instant, Lucius Malfoy.” he pointed at the door, firmly. “And will never return again in my thoughts. I want Adrian. I need Adrian. And I’ll go to any end, take any measure to get him and make him mine.” he said determinedly. “He’s my heir and I won’t let your ridiculous ideas to get on my way.”

Lucius smiled at Draco, looking extremely entertained, “You’ll not succeed.” He announced, not caring to leave his seat.

Draco looked down at those cold grey eyes. “Don’t challenge my abilities, father. You have very little idea of what I am capable of when desperate.” he replied boldly. 

Lucius arched an eyebrow and when Draco opened his eyes after a second-long blink, he was gone, neither in his thoughts nor in his suite anymore.

Draco let out a sigh of great relief. The battle between father and son or the battle between his two inner selves was over. He has won, at least for the time being.

He left the sitting room and came to the balcony. Looking down, he saw the last groups of the children and their parents leaving the Palace Hotel at last. A few reporters were still scattered on the hotel premises, stealthily waiting for the winner to return and have his interview. A sound of conversation came from behind; Audré was talking to Jacob Jordeans who looked convinced and confident that he has attended the Drawing Competition and not Draco. Jacob left and Audré after a moment long pensive stare at Draco left behind him. Now he was all alone.

Draco wondered what he would do now that he was determined to have Adrian at all costs. Should he talk to his mother, Hermione Granger?

He discarded the idea immediately. If that woman didn’t shake hands with him when he wasn’t looking like Draco Malfoy, would she welcome him with open arms if he turned up before her, looking like his own self? Certainly, not.

He could ask for Audré’s help. She has already helped him and Draco was starting to rely on her sharp intelligence and observation power. She was a lawyer too and could help him on the legal matters. But there was a problem to it; he would have to explain or better say tell her the truth behind Adrian’s conception and if Draco was guessing it right, it would tarnish him image before Audré. Who would help a rapist to have the son he never cared for?

Draco wondered if he should consult a lawyer and sue Granger. But doing that would create another problem. If Hermione let out that Draco raped her and the boy was born from that act, the press and media would take the opportunity to throw insults after insults on the name of Malfoys. It would reach England eventually and Draco, who still bore the Dark Mark in his left forearm, wasn’t keen to make things worse. Besides, Adrian would hate him once he grew up and realize the truth. It would spoil everything.

That left Draco with the fourth and last option: observing Hermione Granger’s every movement. In a way, it was mandatory because he knew almost nothing about her. The last time he saw her was on the Room of Requirements, during the Battle of Hogwarts when she didn’t tell Potter that Malfoy raped her. Draco certainly didn’t have any complaints on that; most rape victims chose to never disclose that shameful fact for the fear of social stigma and Hermione Granger, no matter how big a Gryffindor she was, couldn’t be an exception. After the war, Draco got married to Astoria and it never occurred to him to enquire or show any kind of curiosity towards that Mudblood until tonight when Adrian, his last living heir, was in her hands.

Draco frowned. The idea that his son was being raised by a Mudblood was abhorring and completely against the Malfoy norms. Besides, who was that man who was carrying Adrian on his shoulders as if he was his son? Granger’s new boyfriend? Husband? Who? Was she sleeping with him before Adrian? Pathetic! Was that woman so much in need of quenching her thirst for physical pleasures? Wasn’t her encounter with Draco enough?

Draco sighed. He had so many questions and it would be foolish to act before he received all his answers. Malfoys were always Slytherins and their emblem being a serpent, they always knew when and how to slither in.

•••••

The posh Muggle restaurant Edmound took the champion, his mother and aunts for a celebration dinner was playing a pleasant music in the background of low buzzing of conversations. The light was ambient and casting a golden glow over everything. Adrian and her friends were happy, the food was delicious and Hermione, after her son unexpectedly won the competition, honestly couldn’t ask for more. Everything was better than she could ever dream.

But there was a cloud, a dark one that was slowly spreading over the sky of her mind. That cloud was Draco Malfoy.

She played with her food, not able to participate on the excited conversation that was going beside her. Adrian was cuddling his rabbit award as if it was a real rabbit and not a gold one; Edmound was asking the waiter to give all the diners a free dessert to celebrate the occasion; Eva and Gabrielle were praising Adrian’s intelligent idea for drawing and how the almond milk allegedly helped it. Hermione sat still, her face blank; that Jacob Jordean’s eyes have stirred something inside her.

Eyes! What did those tell her actually? Hermione rubbed her forehead wearily. For a split moment, when Jacob offered Hermione his hand, she thought it was actually Draco Malfoy and not Jacob Jordeans. Something in her had stopped her from accepting it; as if if she did, she would be sucked by a quicksand.

Hermione had of course shaken off that possibility the next moment. They were in Belgium now and there was no way Draco Malfoy could follow them here. In fact, he didn’t even know that she lived in France with her son that was conceived from an act of extreme violence. He had his pureblood wife and Malfoy life and must have paid a visit to his aunt’s family to see if he could gain something from them. Malfoys were like sharks; they followed the smell of money like sharks followed the trail of blood.

“Jean, you are not eating!” Edmound’s soft chide brought Hermione back to reality and looking down she saw that the lasagna she was eating has turned cold and soggy.

“Mama always tells me to eat. But she doesn’t eat.” Adrian, following his uncle Edmound’s words checked his mother’s plate and complained, pouting his pink lips.

Hermione slapped herself mentally. Why was she ruining her son’s special moment? Why was she always pondering over Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy and Draco Malfoy? Couldn’t she give the matter some rest? That monster was her past, not her present. She has left him behind. Just because he was in Gringotts or was visiting his aunt’s place didn’t mean that he was back in Hermione’s life? Then why was she allowing him to haunt her everywhere she went? Why was she mentally torturing herself? Wouldn’t it be a defeat on her part, if she let him to rule her, intimidate her?

“Mama is _little rabbit’s_ mother, Adrian. She is supposed to behave like her son sometimes.” Hermione cheered herself up and smiled broadly. In two minutes, she finished the lasagna and looked expectantly at Edmound.

“Dessert?” she demanded bossily and everyone roared in laughter.

•••••

Ever since he discovered that Adrian had been in the same hotel with him, the only unsolved issue probing Draco’s mind was finding his room. His last attempt was unsuccessful but he didn’t mind. No time was too late for a Malfoy and it was high time for him to take drastic actions to retrieve that particular piece of information from the employees of the Palace Hotel.

Armed with this resolution, Draco visited the manager’s office and was pleased to see that his unsuspecting prey was still there, instructing some of the employees on how to clean the Ball Room properly.

“Monsieur Malfoy! You came at last!” Leopold exclaimed, looking gratified by his presence. “We missed you so much!” he nodded curtly at the men who understood that they were dismissed and left.

Draco watched the hotel workers leave and didn’t comment. He certainly wasn’t going to tell the manager the truth; that he was actually present in the competition, as Jacob Jordeans.

“I am sorry that I couldn’t be present.” He said calmly and took a seat before the manager’s spacious desk. “One of my relatives suddenly fell ill and I had to go to England.”

Leopold tsk’ed in sympathy, “I hope your relative is fine now.” he said, offering Draco a goblet of sparkling champagne, which he waved away. Tonight, he didn’t have time to indulge in such delicacies.

“It was a shame that the benevolent host himself couldn’t be present for the competition he worked so ardently for.” Leopold poured himself with a goblet of champagne, “But I must tell you, Monsieur. It was _such_ an honour to host the competition in our hotel. I am sure it will be on the front pages of every single newspaper tomorrow!” he clapped in delight, as if enthralled by the prospect of more publicity of his hotel. Draco nodded, trying to play along with the manager. He was in his full element tonight. Adrian has given him a purpose to live and now he only needed to act on his plan.

“Aunt told me that the winner couldn’t receive his prize money because I wasn’t present at the ceremony.” Draco said, trying to appear appalled that such blunders could happen in an event arranged by the esteemed Malfoys. “I left in a hurry; so I couldn’t hand it over to her. But for Malfoys nothing is a problem.” He said confidently and retrieved a box from the inside pocket of his robe. He opened the lid purposely and showed its content to Leopold. There were two rectangular gold bars in it, placed perfectly side by side and the manager’s eyes glinted. “These gold bars weigh Seven Thousand Six Hundred and Forty Eight grams, exactly as ten thousand galleons would. “ He stated airily, “I want you to deliver it to the winner first thing tomorrow morning.”

Leopold eyed the gold bars with slight confusion. “Surely Monsieur can…” he started but Draco cut in.

“I believe you remember what my aunt said.” He warned the manager, “We, the Malfoys, believe in silent charity. That was the reason our name was not used for publicity of the competition.”

“Of course, of course, Monsieur.” Leopold nodded vigorously and accepted the box with an air of great care. He closed its lid and left his seat presumably to safe keep the gold bars when Draco executed the second stage of his plan.

“I believe you have strong security around your safe, Monsieur Leopold.” He commented, took out his wand and started twirling it casually. The manager didn’t seem to care that his esteemed guest was suddenly playing with his wand. 

“Of course, Monsieur!” Leopold looked slightly astonished that Draco could suggest such a thing. “The Palace Hotel is especially guarded by Aurors from the Ministry of Magic. We serve only the most honorable guests, Heads of States, Ministers of Magic, celebrities, and Quidditch superstars. It’s the most secured building in entire Belgium, after Gringotts.” He stated proudly.

“I see!” Draco commented, “Surely there is no way anyone can break in here through the door or the Floo?”

“Of course not!” Leopold, it seemed was disheartened that his esteemed guest was having difficulty in trusting them with the gold bars. “The doors and fireplaces are highly protected. Even the Room Services are allowed once their identity is checked and passed. We ensure complete safety of our guests. The safe that I keep valuable belongings of the hotel guests is goblin made and is in a room which is under Fidelius Charm. I am its Secret Keeper.” He said with an air of extreme importance, “Rest assured, Monsieur, that these gold bars are safe here.” Leopold reassured Draco.

Draco nodded and looking around the office, noticed open windows. “What about those, Monsieur?” He drew the manager’s attention to the open windows. “What if someone flew in through those?”

“Well the Aurors would spot him right away, won’t they?”Leopold replied, looking confident. “The Quidditch pitch is on the other side of the hotel. Excuse me for a moment.” He bowed and as soon as his back was turned Draco struck like a prying snake.

 _‘Imperio!’_ With a flick of his wand he cast the Unforgivable, non-verbally. It was one of those curses he was pretty good at, having used it on Madam Rosemerta for an entire year. Now he was comfortable with the usual peculiar sensation that flowed out from his hand as if invisible strings. It found the target and acted instantly.

“Turn to me and sit.” Draco commanded and Leopold turned to him like a puppet, his face blank, and reoccupied his seat behind the desk.

“Slap yourself.” Draco said, testing the strength of his spells though he had no doubt that the Imperius was cast perfectly. Leopold complied immediately, slapping himself hard on his right cheek, reddening the place.

“Very Good.” Draco smirked, satisfied with his handiwork. Leopold was completely under his control and would have no recollections of what happened once he was done with him. “Now take out the file of the guests staying here and look for Jean Granger.” He commanded the manager.

Leopold, his face expressionless, took out a keychain and with it, opened a drawer on the right side of his desk. He removed a large leather bound book, opened it, flipped through the pages and stopped at last on an entry.

“Give it here.” Draco held out his hand. Leopold passed the book to him and Draco checked the entry.

There it was! A name and an entry beside what looked like a miniature map of the floor it was in. Draco scanned the page and read:

_Mademoiselle Jean Granger and company_

_Suite number 1452 and 1455;_

_Thirteenth floor,_

_The East Wing._

His eyes next roved down the miniature map. There was a red dot over a suite of rooms, indicating its position in the thirteenth floor. Draco counted it: third window from the right corner. So that was where Granger was staying with Adrian! He wondered why never saw them during an entire week’s stay in the same hotel. It could be due to the fact that his own suite was on the seventh floor, on the opposite side of the Palace Hotel, the West Wing and they used separate entrances and Floos.

‘Gemenio!’ Draco thought, pointing his wand at the page and an exact copy was made. He folded the piece of paper and shoved it inside his robe, looking confident and done. He, then, passed the entry book to Leopold who sat like a statue. “Return the book to its place. Then stand up and turn your back on me.” His job done, Draco leaned back on his seat and crossed his legs.

Like a puppet on strings, Leopold did as he was told and Draco, after making sure that everything was fine, lifted the Imperius Curse. The aftereffect was immediate.

“What…was…I…” Leopold rubbed his head wearily, staring down at the box of gold bars like a stupid bull.

“Is anything wrong, Monsieur?” Draco asked innocently, feigning concern.

“No…” Leopold replied vaguely, though his features said otherwise, “I just… felt dizzy suddenly.”

“Oh! Well Monsieur, I think I should leave now. It’s been a long day for all of us.” Draco said and left the manager’s office. Perhaps it was time to test whether his Seeker’s reflexes were still intact.

He made his way to the reception and gave the receptionist lady a charming smile. He always knew when to use his physical charms.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur.” (Good evening, sir) The witch greeted him, blushing slightly.

“Bonsoir.” Draco greeted back, “I require a broom. Can you tell me where can I find one?”

“Brooms, Monsieur?” the witch looked genuinely interested. “You can find one in the Broom shed on our private Quidditch pitch. We have the finest quality products collected from around the globe.” she replied with a bright smile, “Do you play, Monsieur?” she asked slyly.

Draco raised an eyebrow, “Only when I am the Seeker.” He stated and started for the mentioned Broom shed.

The Palace Hotel was not just any hotel. Being the only five star hotel for the upper echelon Wizarding population of Belgium, it housed its own swimming pool, aquarium, a small zoo for kids and a private Quidditch pitch where children and adult guests spent their afternoon, playing Quidditch.

The broom shed was actually a large broom museum with hundreds of broomsticks perched and displayed on the wall. Draco checked for the Nimbus series, which was his first broom but after spotting a shining Thunderbolt Ultra from England discarded the Nimbus. There were foreign brooms too but he preferred using something from his native land.

Draco left the Broom shed and examined the night sky. It was clear ensuring no visibility problem. He mounted his broom, cast a Disillusionment Charm upon himself and the broom and kicked off the ground. He directed his broom at what he guessed could be the East Wing of the Palace Hotel. Counting floors and windows, he soon reached an open window that he suspected might be the third window from right corner on the thirteenth floor. The room inside was dimly lit with candles. It looked like a sitting room. Smug and extremely proud that he hoodwinked the stupid manager of Palace Hotel, he flew in through the window and landed on the floor silently.

Suite 1452 was a royal quality suite with elegant furniture and curtains, better than the one Draco was staying, Draco noted with slight irritation, wondering where Granger got the money to pay for it. On the upside, he was glad that his son wasn’t staying in one of those flea bitten, down-market, cheap hotels of _Laan Grote Markt_. The suite, currently, it was empty. Surely its occupant Hermione Granger was celebrating Adrian’s outstanding accomplishment in some place of her choice. Draco walked around the place silently, inspecting everything with care.

He entered the larger of the two bedrooms that the suite housed and found Adrian’s red tie lying on the bed. So this was where he lived with his mother? He looked around and found some of his other belongings – a small sock crumpled under a table, a small yellow T-shirt with black stripes, some children’s books on a window sill and a brand new box of colouring pencils. He recognized it as the one Adrian used that morning at the competition. He touched everything carefully – not moving them but trying to feel his son’s presence there.

He opened the closet next. It was full of ladies’ clothes – surely belonging to Granger, in upper two shelves and Adrian’s ones in lower two. Draco took out a red pajama top and smelled it – Peach and Honeysuckle. The smell was so Adrian – innocent, lively and fresh! He separated a small white shirt and shrunk it before pocketing it – a small relic of his innocent existence.

He was about to inspect their bathroom more fully when the Entrance Door of the Suite swung open and loud sounds of laughter filled in the place. Draco moved to a shadowed corner as Hermione entered her bedroom with Adrian in tow, looking tired but otherwise happy. The little boy immediately ran for the bed.

“Adrian, remove your shoes before getting on the bed.” Hermione told her son from her stand before the vanity. She was undoing her braid. Draco frowned. Why was this woman commanding his son?

“I can’t remove them, Mama.” Adrian stated innocently, standing at the foot of the bed.

Draco smiled and shook his head. This boy was so much like his father! He too could not undo his shoelaces until he was seven. Elves would do it for him and receive kicks as a reward.

Hermione let out a breath and walked to the boy. She set him on the bed and after untying the knots of the shoelace, removed them from his little feet.

Draco looked at his son’s feet. They were just like his was except for that they belonged to a five year old body. He watched as Hermione removed Adrian’s clothes and soon there was nothing left except for the small blue boxers that he was wearing underneath.

He examined his body carefully. It was well nourished; the muscles looked strong for his age. His skin was flawless just as his one was. He felt as if he was looking at himself as a boy.

“Adrian, why are you always littering the floor?” his trance broke when Hermione collected the crumpled socks and T-shirt and folding neatly, put them back on the closet he had plundered earlier.

‘ _So what? He is a boy. He can do as he likes._ ’ Draco snapped. What an irritating woman as a mother! His own mother never admonished him for littering his room. It was _his_ room and he could do as he pleased. He was a boy and being untidy was considered a part of masculine charm.

“Sorry, Mama. I forgot.” Adrian piped with a persuasive smile.

‘ _Do not apologize to a Mudblood!_ ’ Draco almost screamed in his thoughts. _‘Merlin! This boy is in desperate need of some good pureblood training.’_

“It’s okay little rabbit. Take care next time.” Hermione accepted the charming apology. She opened their closet, took out the red pajama Draco had taken out earlier and gestured the almost naked boy towards the bathroom.

“Come. Let Mama give you a bath.” she said and Adrian with a loud ‘yay!’ jumped from the bed, and ran into the bathroom. Hermione, after twisting her hair and fixing them firmly in a French Twist, followed him in. Draco, like a silent ghost, walked to and stood at threshold of the bathroom, its door open.

Like the rest of the royal suite, he noted, the bathroom was spacious with marble floor, bathtub and finest quality toiletries. As Hermione drew him a bath, Adrian danced beside her and when it was done he jumped into it, splashing his mother with soap water. She screamed and tried to control her overexcited son but failed miserably. Adrian, Draco presumed, liked to play with water and was too good for his mother. He watched them in wonder as Hermione, after threatening the boy to never talk to him should he continued drenching her with soap water, finally succeeded in giving him a bath. She scrubbed his little body gently and Adrian, despite Hermione’s impending threat sprayed his mother with soap water several times. Draco was impressed by Adrian’s playfulness.

The bath being over Hermione dressed him in his red pajama and Draco just could not admire the view more. His son looked so adorable in that red pajama! His eyes followed Adrian as he zoomed around the suite, squeaking “Aunt Gaby! Aunt Gaby!” and the young woman with long silvery hair, whom Draco saw earlier that day, walked out from the second bedroom.

“What’s it, Adrian?” She asked the happy boy.

“Where’s my rabbit?” Adrian ran to her and asked.

“It is in my bag. Come and take it.” Aunt Gaby replied and ushered him to her room. Adrian ran inside and Draco followed their pair silently.

“Are you writing letters?” The little boy asked his aunt Gaby as she gave him the trophy. Her room, Draco noticed had the same grandeur of a royal suite with painted ceiling, chandelier, a four poster bed, moving portraits and rich velvet upholstered furniture. The woman seemed busy writing letters as several rolls of parchments were lying open on her writing table with a quill dipped in the ink. Draco rubbed his head, trying hard to remember where he had seen her before.

“Yes, I am.” Aunt Gaby nodded, sitting down to finish the letters. “To Bill and Fleur.”

And then it landed on Draco.

 _‘Fleur! Fleur Delacour! The champion from Beauxbaton for Triwizard Tournament!’_ He gaped at the young woman, finally remembering who she was. ‘ _She is Fleur’s sister!’_ He had seen her when they brought her for the second task. She was the one placed under the lake water along with Granger and Weasley. But what were Hermione and Adrian doing with her? Or with her family?

“Adrian? Where is my little rabbit?” Draco heard Hermione’s voice from his right. Looking sideways, he saw her standing just beside him on a blue nightdress and drying her hair. “You are not disturbing Aunt Gabrielle?” she asked the happy little boy.

“Not at all, Jean.” Gabrielle protested, continuing writing her letters. “I am just writing to Bill and Fleur. You can Floo maman, papa and Alexis in the morning.”

“Oh, Gabrielle! I can’t wait to share the news with them!” Hermione beamed at her, “Now Adrian, it’s been a long day and we all need to go to bed.” She threw her arms open and Adrian, with soppy goodnight kiss on Gabrielle’s cheek, lunged from her bed and crush landed in her arms.

“Adrian! Mama told you not to jump like that! What if you get hurt?” Hermione admonished and wrapped her arms securely around her son. Draco fisted his hands in jealousy. He wanted his son to crush into his arms, not in Granger’s. The boy, however, laughed as if him crash landing and getting hurt was an amusing joke.

“I know you’ll catch me, Mama.” he piped, looking confident at this mother’s ability.

Hermione didn’t remark and carried him to their bedroom. She placed Adrian’s trophy on the mantelpiece, tucked him in their bed and turned off the lights before climbing in beside him. Adrian moved close and snuggled against her bosom. Draco took his stand at the foot of the bed and leaned against the bedpost to observe them. He was relieved that the brunette muscular guy wasn’t on the same bed as Hermione or Adrian. That meant she wasn’t married though it didn’t rule out the possibilities that she sleeping with him, secretly.

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me, my little rabbity babitty boo.” Draco’s stream of thoughts broke and Hermione cooed to her son. “I never expected to have you. But when I realized that your life was in danger I prayed that I don’t lose you.”

Adrian’s life was in danger? When? How? Why? Draco frowned and strained his ears to listen the quiet conversation.

“My life was in danger?” Adrian asked Draco’s question on his behalf, “When?”

“The night you were born.” Hermione replied.

“Really?” Adrian exclaimed excitedly as if being in danger the night he was born was an exciting idea. “Who saved me?” He asked his mother.

Hermione remained quiet for long moment. Draco’s heart beat quickened and he cursed her for not telling what happened the night Adrian was born. Then the sound of a heavy sigh followed, it was Hermione’s.

“Let me tell you a story, little rabbit.” She said and even in the dimly lit bedroom Draco could see Adrian’s eyes shining on the prospect of hearing a new story. “Once upon a time in a distant land called France, there was a young lady named Jean. She lived with a family who loved her very much. They were called the Delacours.” she started.

“You mean Grandpa and Grandma?” Adrian asked.

“Yes. Grandpa, Grandma and their family.” Hermione smiled kindly, “The loved Jean and took good care of her. She studied in a school named Beauxbaton. There she had two friends. Eva and Edmound. They loved her very much.”

So that muscular guy was Edmound and he was Hermione’s friend from Beauxbatons? Draco snorted. _Friend or boy friend?_ Why wasn’t she telling _his_ son the truth? Was she afraid? Draco curled his lips.

“I know, I know why they loved her!” Adrian interrupted, looking excited as if it was Professor Sprout’s Herbology class and he, like his mother, was jumping up and down to answer every question, asked or unasked. “Because my Mama is very special.”

“No, Adrian, your Mama is an ordinary woman.” Hermione smiled and shook her head, “They loved her because Jean had a very special person inside her. She was going to have a baby, a little rabbit it was.”

“Me!” Adrian proclaimed happily.

“Yes, you.” Hermione kissed Adrian’s forehead, “Now, Jean loved her baby a lot and was waiting for him to arrive sound and healthy. But there was a problem. An evil witch once cursed her badly and the effects of that curse were causing Jean a lot of pain. She feared that her baby may be harmed too.”

Evil witch? Curse? Effects? Draco was perplexed. How dare that evil witch laid her hands on pregnant Granger and endangered Adrian’s life? Draco fisted his hands. If Granger’s tale was true, he was going to deal with that bitch as soon as this story was over. No matter how evil she was, he was going to make sure that she licked the floor he saw his reflections, once he was done with her.

“Why did the evil witch curse Jean?” Adrian enquired, looking appalled that someone could curse a special woman who was going to have a baby.

Hermione sighed. “Because Jean was Muggleborn and the evil witch was Pureblood who hated Muggleborns. So she cursed Jean badly.”

Bellatrix! Draco gritted through his teeth. That blasted woman used Cruciatus on Granger the day he raped her. But that was beside the point. He raped her because he had his own reasons. But Bellatrix? She was a maniac and loved using Cruciatus even on elves, something Draco, no matter how much he ill treated those poor creatures, couldn’t support.

“What was the name of the evil witch, Mama?” Adrian asked breathlessly.

Hermione bit her lip, “She had no name. She was very evil, so everyone called her ‘The Evil Witch’.” she replied resolutely “So as I was saying before, Jean feared for the life of the little rabbit she carried inside her. What if the poor thing was affected? Then the day came when the little rabbit was about to be born. It was 4th January 1999.” She reminisced.

“That’s my birthday!” Adrian commented forgetting the danger his unborn self was going through.

“Yes. It’s your birthday, dear.” Hermione stroked Adrian’s curls fondly, “On that day Jean was having a lot of pain because the evil witch’s curse was running through her veins. The Delacours took her to hospital and Healers examined her. When they found out that she has been cursed, they told her family that the little rabbit’s life was in danger. The curse was going to kill him.”

Draco never noticed that he was holding his breath, waiting anxiously for the rest of the story to follow. If Cruciatus was going to kill his Adrian then how come he survived?

Hermione spoke again to her silent audiences, oblivious that they were two and not one.

“Jean was horrified. She loved her little rabbit and wanted him to be with her. But there was nothing the Healers could do. Then mother Apolline came forward like an angel of life. She gave Jean a Muggle tea made from the dried leaves of Raspberry. She said it would ease her pain. The Healers laughed at her. What could a Muggle tea do when the magic has failed? But mother Apolline insisted and Jean took her advice. She drank the tea mother Apolline gave her and noticed that it worked even better than the Healer’s magic. Her pain subsided and she was saved. Then the little rabbit was born. He was a cute one and thankfully of good health.” Hermione smiled and kissed her son.

Draco let out the breath he was holding. Of course Adrian was a cute little and healthy boy. His marriage with Astoria had been unsuccessful to provide the Malfoys with that, fact that he had to admit with resentment.

“So grandma saved me before I was born?” Adrian asked his mother, looking excited.

“Yes. She did.” Hermione doted on her son, “That’s why little rabbit’s mother decided to name her son after grandma’s brother ‘Adrian’.”

“Why?” the little Adrian piped, curious.

“That’s a story for another day, little rabbit.” Somehow Hermione’s voice sounded thoughtful and grave to Draco’s ears. “But know this that grandma’s brother Adrian was a great man. He was a brave Auror and defeated many dark wizards.”

“And Thomas?” Adrian asked about his middle name. “Who is he?

Hermione sighed again, “Well, he’s your real Grandpa, little rabbit, Thomas Granger. He and Grandma Adeline live in Australia.”

“What is Australia?” Adrian asked, “Why do they live there? Why don’t they live with us?”

“Because…” Hermione’s voice broke and she cleared her throat, “...because the evil witch who cursed Jean, wanted to curse them too. So she sent them to Australia. Australia is a country very far from England and France. The evil witch wouldn’t be able to reach them there. Grandpa and grandma would be safe.”

Adrian remained silent for a while as if pondering on the problem at hand. “When I grow up, Mama, I’ll fight that evil witch and kill her. Then I’ll go and find Grandpa and Grandma. I’ll bring them to France.”  He declared firmly.

Draco meanwhile was judging the truth behind that statement that Hermione sent her parents to Australia to save them. That must be before she started hunting the Dark Lord’s soul pieces with Potter. But how did she do it? Made them leave their daughter alone? Didn’t they protest, even for once? His own mother, Narcissa Malfoy, would have died but not left her son in peril. These bloody emotionless Muggles! Why do they take the trouble of having kids when they didn’t know how to take care of them?

Hermione smiled weakly. Her heart bled at any mention of her parents. “There is no need for that, little rabbit. The Evil Witch is dead. A good and brave witch named Molly finished her. Besides my little rabbit will never kill or torture.” she declared firmly.

“But she hurt you!” Adrian protested, “What if she tried to kill me?”

“If some tries to kill you, defend yourself, little rabbit. Fight hard, try to injure them but never kill a living being.” Hermione replied somberly, “My grandma once told me, ‘It’s a great sin to kill somebody’.”

“Your grandma?” Adrian repeated but Hermione stopped him.

“No more talk little rabbit. Now go to sleep.” she stroked his curls and with a heavy sigh, started to sing softly.

 _“Hush my baby, sweetly sleep…_  
Do not cry!  
I will sing a lullaby….  
  
Feel my arms that keep you warm  
Snuggling around your tiny form…  
Precious baby, sweetly sleep…  
Sleep in comfort, slumber deep…

 _I will rock you, rock you, rock you…_  
I will rock you, rock you, rock you…  
  
I will rock you, rock you, rock you…  
I will rock you, rock you, rock you…  
  


Draco listened, enchanted, as Hermione finished the lullaby. It was the same one his aunt used to put him to sleep. It seemed like every mother’s favourite lullaby. He almost dozed off, fell on floor and came to his senses when the song came no more. He noticed that Adrian and his mother have fallen asleep. They looked so peaceful that he envied their comfort.

Very carefully, he approached Adrian whose small forehead was visible and planted a kiss delicately on it.

“Good Night and sweet dreams, son.” he whispered softly and left them to slumber peacefully.

Now, he had some serious issues to attend to.

•••••

Working as a public prosecutor in French Wizengamot for nearly half her life has gained Audré some special abilities: good power of observation and obtaining a true confession from her clients. She also was married to a Malfoy, one of the most complicated minds she has ever come across, for twenty years. Thus she knew well when to question in order to receive an honest reply.

That reason had refrained Audré from bombarding Draco with questions about Adrian and his mother after the ceremony was over. She noticed him carefully during the Prize Giving Ceremony and his reactions were of pure shock when he saw the boy’s mother. Draco had clapped his hand to his mouth and shook his head vigorously – two unmistakable signs that one displays upon recognizing an unexpected person. Clearly in Draco’s eyes, the woman named Jean Granger was the last person on earth to bear him a child. She has also, from the corner of her eyes, noticed how that Jean Granger didn’t shake hands with her nephew and moved to her. Audré had wondered what could be the reason behind such a conduct. It was not that Draco looked like Draco during the ceremony. He was impersonating Jacob Jordeans. Then why did Jean avoid him? Did she sense something fishy in the entire affair or was it Draco, who air didn’t seem right and convincing?

Adrian was Draco’s son – Audré was certain of it now, and not his brother from Lucius’s secret mistress. Their resemblances were uncanny except for the curly pattern of hair which he inherited from his mother; Audré did notice the woman’s brown curls when they shook hands. How Jean Granger came to bear Draco’s child was, however, the ultimate mystery. Audré had some very unpleasant suspicions about it but preferred not to launch them on Draco. Her nephew, it was clear, knew nothing of the entire business of mysterious art of baby-making without the father’s physical involvement. Audré knew about the Malfoys. They were masters of Dark Arts; they loved practicing it.

Besides, Draco has just started to rely on her and she preferred to keep it that way. He has been unfortunate enough to be brought up by Lucius and Narcissa, the flagships of nonsense pureblood supremacy and was already leading a miserable life as a widower. The moment Audré saw him, his eyes agonized, she decided to help him out of his self-imposed solitude and depression.

Audré noticed Draco’s agitation after the Prize Giving Ceremony was over, how he followed Jean Granger and Adrian out of the Ball Room. She had wanted to calm him. But sometimes quelling the source of agitation was the best way to deal with it. So she allowed him to leave her to deal with Jacob Jordeans.

Audré was certain that Draco went after Adrian when she left his suite. She was also certain that if she waited patiently for a few days she would surely receive a true answer regarding Adrian’s mother and their past relationship.

There was a knock on the door. It was past midnight and there was only one person who could approach her at such hours, Draco.

Audré rubbed her eyes wearily and left for the door. A disheveled looking Draco was standing on the threshold. She moved aside, letting him enter. They took their usual seats by the fireplace and Audré looked at her nephew.

Draco was staring down at his feet and fidgeting with something in his pocket. Moments passed but Audré didn’t break the silence. She knew he was here for something and surely, he looked up at her after sometime and spoke.

“Aunt Audré, can you please accompany me to England?” Draco’s features were sincere and pensive.

England? Audré was astonished but chose not to show it. Things were happening rather faster than she had expected them to. “I believe everything is in order, Draco?” she enquired, trying to appear mildly concerned.

“No… yes…” Draco fumbled, “I mean… I want your help to find some answers.”

Audré nodded. “What kind of answers?” she asked.

“Some answers regarding Adrian.” Draco replied evenly.

“From whom?” Audré asked calmly, raising an eyebrow.

Draco took a deep breath, “She’s a Frenchwoman married to an Englishman, just like you were. Her name is Fleur Delacour.” He replied, looking dead serious. 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14: Like Fire on Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this writing.

** **

** Chapter 14: Like Fire on Water. **

**A** lexis Delacour, Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic of the French Republic, was more a man of letter than the actual number of words he spoke. Apolline and Gustave Delacour’s eldest son and a quarter Veela by birth, Alexis wasn’t the stereotypical guy that swam into one’s view when they imagined a man-Veela. Most people were accustomed to think male-Veelas as flirtish handsome blokes who would be tall, very fair, with silvery blonde hair and sleeping with every available lady that they could cast their charms upon; in other words they could be found more in their beds than their writing desks.

It, however, came to them as a surprise that Alexis spent most of times at his office, working behind his desk and not shagging someone underneath it, when the quarter-Veela joined the Ministry after finishing his Beauxbatons course. His single female colleagues kept waiting for him to try his charm on them, some even picturized hot and steamy moments with the handsome new Junior Undersecretary. But to their extreme disappointment, the man of their erotic dreams continued working without sparing half a glance at the ladies. Eventually the age old notion regarding man-Veelas broke and gossiping sprouted like wild weed, giving birth to numerous speculations about his sexual orientation. Now Alexis’s man-colleagues shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

Of Apolline’s three children, Alexis only hasn’t inherited his mother’s looks. He was a tall and lean version of Monsieur Gustave Delacour with black hair and black eyes which were calm and ever-pensive. Like his father, his voice was very deep but it lacked the joviality and friendliness. He was very reserved with the new ladies he met and also wasn’t much interested in Quidditch, a trait considered almost as a criminal offense by those around him. The quiet quarter-Veela instead liked chess and his colleagues, men and women alike, often shook their heads in empathy and wondered which unfortunate person on earth was going to end up in his bed and life.

But they didn’t know that Alexis Delacour, a serious man who was feared by his junior, ridiculed by his same age and advised regularly by his elder colleagues, could have an interest in someone, someone who was just as serious as he was, was ridiculed in her school life and was strangely lonely as he was.

It was Hermione Jean Granger, the woman who lived with his family with her son, Adrian Thomas Granger.

From the inception of his special feelings for Hermione from the moment she set her foot on Paris, Alexis has been very careful to not show it to her in anyway. The lady in question wasn’t just any woman that he could kneel down and propose with a red rose, a diamond ring and promises of a beautiful future. She was a deeply distrustful person who had been through an extremely violent incident, was alone in a foreign country and was bearing a forsaken fruit in her womb at the tender age of eighteen, when she should be enjoying her life and their victory over the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Over the course of six years she had been through numerous hardships, both to have Adrian and reach where she was today and it has hardened her heart, Alexis realized it too well. Hermione’s cold attitude towards most men also made it clear that she still hasn’t gotten over her last encounter with a man and was not ready to be involved in a serious relationship. 

Alexis, being the diplomatic and cool-headed person he was, therefore, thought it would be unwise and selfish to confess his true feelings to Hermione. For one, she might think that he was taking advantage of their cordial relationship; for another, she might misjudge his feelings and think that he was asking for sex in return of all the love and affection the Delacours had poured on her and Adrian. In short his feelings would be mislabeled as lust. But Alexis didn’t blame Hermione for it. This world was selfish and life, unfair. On what grounds should one believe the opposite?

Alexis sighed. It was Saturday night and he was sitting on a garden seat with a good view of Hermione’s suite. The windows of the Eastern wing were closed and the rooms beyond it, dark, darkened like his heart and empty like his soul felt. It’s been only a week since Hermione and Adrian had left for Brussels with Gabrielle, Eva and Edmound and already it was feeling like seven years have passed. Without Adrian’s childish squeals, running to and fro and jumping into grandma or grandpa’s arms or little drawings, the house was starting to feel strangely dead, something that Apolline wasn’t missing an opportunity to point to her husband and son. Hermione had invited Alexis to join them; he too would have accepted it had Edmound not accompanied the gang of ladies. Edmound? Edmound! Alexis’s heart constricted painfully. Was what he thinking, the real reason behind his not going to Brussels, true?

Even at night, Alexis could clearly see the windowsill that Hermione or Adrian usually sat when they were there. He knew that Hermione quite liked that nook; she used to sit and read books there, when she was pregnant and Alexis, unbeknownst to the attentive reader above, would steal a few glances and sigh from the same garden chair below, wondering if he would ever be able to tell her the truth that he buried in his heart. Almost seven years have passed and the situation was still the same: stealing glances and sighing when no one was looking. Would he ever be able to tell her what he felt for her? That not every man was like Draco Malfoy and they knew how to treat women with respect? That he loved her and it wasn’t lust? That he had honourable intentions for her? Would that moment ever arrive? Alexis wondered.

Hermione and company had sent them letters with a few drawings that Adrian had made. It was clear that they were enjoying their tour. They would be there for another week and judging their happiness, Alexis wished that they could stay a little longer. But in last seven days, he has realized how very difficult it would be for him to live if Hermione ever left the Delacour Residence with Adrian. Who could have thought that just a week’s separation was going to pain him so much? Wasn’t his heart already aching to see them again? This wasn’t normal, Alexis knew it; his sister, Fleur, lived in England with her husband and daughter. He loved his sisters but as a brother he has never missed them this acutely. Then why was his heart always asking for Hermione and Adrian? Would he ever be able to live without them, even if it was under the pretence of being a large family and not Hermione’s husband and Adrian’s father?

Sighing one last time, Alexis started rereading Hermione’s letters from Brussels. They were mostly on the famous Belgian landmarks: the Manneken Pis, the Royal Palace of Belgium and a drawing competition for helping the orphans that was being arranged at the hotel they were staying and Adrian was going to participate; it was no wonder of course, that Hermione Granger would send her son to a Drawing Competition that was for charity purposes. That competition was scheduled this morning and Alexis sincerely hoped that Adrian had enjoyed it.

Except the account of Belgian landmarks, Hermione sounded cheerful and carefree in her letters, much better than she was after she almost ran into Draco Malfoy at Gringotts and had a meltdown. Alexis tried to read between the lines. Was there anything that Hermione was hiding from them? Was she deliberately being too cheerful to hide her insecurity and fears?

Around Alexis summer breeze blew gently and brought with it memories of the summers Hermione has spent with the Delacours. He smiled, sighed and continued reading the letters oblivious of the fact that a pair of blue eyes kept watching him from one of the upstairs windows that belonged to the master bedroom.

•••••

“I wonder when your son will muster the courage to actually go and ask for her hand.” Gustave was standing behind his wife, Apolline, who was watching Alexis read Hermione’s letters in the garden and occasionally look up at the darkened Eastern Wing. “It seems like he keeps forgetting that he is man and not a shy virgin. Nostradamus’s sake! He’s a Veela’s son!” He cried, exasperated and slightly annoyed.

“He is your son too, Gustave.” Apolline reminded her husband, raising a sharp eyebrow and glancing back sternly. “I still remember the day you asked papa for my hand. You looked close to wetting your trousers.”

Gustave snorted loudly and leaving his wife alone by the window went and sat on their bed. “It’s not my fault that I was scared to death that day, _dear wife_.” He defended, “You were Adrian, the Great Auror’s sister! Before his mighty shadow, I was nothing but a Niffler before a dragon. I was only twenty three and had nothing but the family apothecary business. You, on the other hand, had too many good suitors. They were better looking than I ever was, taller and most importantly, more established. It’s a wonder that I went against my family, mustered the courage to stand before your father and asked for your hand.” He smiled smugly, “But that’s not the case with Jean. She doesn’t have an endless list of suitors starting from the Duke of Marseilles to the Prince of Baghdad. She considers us as her parents. She lives with us; we love them both and want them to be a part of our family. The only obstacle in the happy plan is your son. He just wouldn’t go and ask for her hand!”

“Do you think it is easy for _my_ son?” Apolline turned fully now and faced her husband, her blue eyes flashing, “You saw what happened when Jean saw that bastard that day! She was petrified, close to having a fit! For a moment, I thought she has lost her mind, that she was hallucinating that Malfoy has returned. It turned out that she was telling the truth. But that’s beside the point.” She crossed her arms, “Don’t you see Gustave? Jean still isn’t over that bastard rapist! She still _suffers, suffers inside._ ” She placed a hand over her heart, “I know her. Jean hates to be taken as a weak woman. She curse-broke that bastard’s vault and didn’t breathe a word. I can’t imagine what she went through when she did it! Jean is like that, Gustave! She never tells anyone that she is scared, that she suffers. So it’s our duty to heal her, to have her faith restored. Until that, even if Alexis goes and lays down his heart at her feet, Jean will not believe his claim. She’ll think that his interests are elsewhere, that he is asking for her body in return of all these years that she and Adrian lived with us.”

“Why should she think so?” Gustave demanded, scratching his pointed black beard, “We have never done anything to break her trust, Apolline. Besides, it’s a _marriage_ proposal. It’s not like Alexis will ask her for a date or a couple’s night out.”

“No, he won’t.” Apolline admitted calmly, her anger ebbing away and being replaced by thoughtfulness, “But I am a woman, Gustave and I know how we think; I know what a woman like Jean will think when someone suddenly asks for her hand in marriage. She is not Fleur or Gabrielle, Gustave. Jean is deeply distrustful towards men folk. Except you, Bill, Alexis, and Edmound, she is not very comfortable with them. You are like her father, Bill is like an elder brother and Edmound is a good friend. I don’t know what she takes Alexis as but chances are that she takes him as a family and nothing more. In that case, we have to be very careful to handle her, handle _them_ to be more precise.” She said patiently, “Don’t forget Adrian. He might be a kid but he is very protective of his mother. He might not like the idea that his dear Mama will have a man in her life other than him. Kids can be very difficult in these situations.”

Gustave nodded and sighed, finally giving into his wife. “Do you think I should talk to Jean?” He asked pensively, “I mean, that way, she won’t get any wrong impressions.”

Apolline shook her head and closing the curtain with a last glance at her son’s direction, walked to her husband and sat beside him. “Be patient, dear husband.” She smiled at him and took his hands on hers, “I know you want to see Jean and Adrian as our real family, you want to have Delacour grandkids from our son and have a nice and big, happy family. I too dream that day.” She assured him with a dreamy look, “But for _that_ we have to be patient. First, let them return home safely. I’ll see if Jean is still brooding over that bastard. Meanwhile, I need to find out why that Malfoy suddenly decided to visit his long forgotten aunt’s family. Maybe, he’s here to ask share of his uncle’s property. If that’s the case, he’s in the wrong place.” She gave a vengeful smirk, “Audré Chombrun Malfoy is René Chombrun’s daughter. With that brain of hers, that one lady is enough to burn down the entire Malfoy clan to ashes.”

Gustave shook his head in evident disapproval. At fifty, his wife was very pretty but vindictive like most Veelas. “I don’t understand one thing about you Veelas; how you can be complete opposites at the same time: protective and caring and extremely vindictive?”

“Women? We are a mystery that even angels were incapable to solve.” Apolline’s smile broadened and it brought forth a jovial smile on Gustave’s lips too. “Who the hell do you think you are, my Monsieur Mortal?”

•••••

_Hermione was standing in a beautiful enchanted forest and gazing at the sky. It was a sunny day; the sunlight filtered through the canopy of green foliages overhead and casting a green aura, kissed her skin. Known and unknown wild flowers bloomed; ivy and other evergreen creepers climbed and wrapped themselves around the thick trunks of trees. Birds chirped happy songs while at her feet a little white rabbit played on the leaf - strewn forest grounds._

_“Come to Mama, Adrian!” Hermione crouched down, opened her arms and invited the little bunny affectionately. It hopped and jumped, just as Adrian had jumped into her arms from Gabrielle’s bed. She smiled, cuddled the cute animal and kissed it fondly. Life was beautiful with her son in it. The beautiful forest, the flowers, the songs, the sunny day and her son; Hermione wished that it remained that way, forever and ever and ever._

_Then suddenly, out of the blue, the sky grew dark and obscured the sun behind large grey clouds. Gusts blew, almost throwing Hermione backwards. She looked around frantically, alarmed. All around her the flowers were dying and falling off; scared, the birds left their cheerful singing and fled, making raucous calls. Against the strong wind, Hermione hugged her rabbit protectively. What happened? The weather was fine even a second ago! How could it change so suddenly? She looked up at the sky. The sun was now permanently gone. In its place, grey clouds were swirling like the eye of a hurricane. It seemed as if a storm was about to come._

_Hermione didn’t have the time to ascertain why the beautiful weather suddenly took a downcast mood. Right now, her priority was to find a shelter. The little white rabbit in her arms was quivering. Maybe it was cold. Hermione shoved it under her lilac dress robe, the one she was wearing at the Prize Giving Ceremony. It struck her odd. Why was she on that robe?_

_“Don’t be afraid, Adrian. Mama is here. She’ll save you from harm.” She told the pitiful little creature and proceeded for a tree with a relatively large shade. She and her rabbit would be safe under it._

_“What the…” Hermione stopped on her tracks. Her eyes were on the trees that looked enchantingly beautiful even a few seconds ago. Now, by some miraculous and satanic means, they looked haunting - their branches whipping menacingly and their trunks, dark and gnarled. What more! The green ivies were turning into green snakes now, wrapping their powerful tight coils around the tree trunks, their fangs dripping white poison, were ready to strike at Hermione and her little rabbit and devour them whole._

_Under her lilac robe, she felt the rabbit starting to quiver harder. Could it sense her intense fear too? “It’s okkk….kay, lit…tle rab…bit! Mama… will sa…ve you!” Hermione was chattering, shaking from head to toe but tried to fight her extreme fear for snakes. Snakes meant Slytherin! Snakes meant Nagini! But most importantly, snakes meant a certain Malfoy. Draco Malfoy!_

_Not thinking anything particular, Hermione tried to run. She needed to leave this place as soon as she could! But long tentacles, like that of Devil’s Snare, like the hand Jacob Jordeans had offered to her, sprouted from the grounds and wrapped themselves around her feet, rooting her to the spot. Hermione tried to whip out her wand and light a fire but in vain. Her wand wasn’t with her. What the hell! Where was her wand? She never left it lying by._

_“Where is my wand?” Hermione cradled her rabbit under one arm and using the other, rummaged her robe for the wand. Did it fell off somewhere? She needed to free her legs, if she wanted to live. The snakes were getting bigger now, some even sprouting multiple heads. Hermione tried to avoid looking at them. Fear, intense and extreme fear that had no parallel, was slowly paralyzing her. She felt like someone was watching her, watching them to be precise, fight in vain and enjoying the sight. Who was it? Who was it?_

_Then he saw him. Jacob Jordeans. The painter with cold blue eyes that had sent a shiver down her spine, came out of thin air, a green, malicious snake wrapped around his shoulders and stood before Hermione, giving her the same soul-searching stare he had given at the Prize Giving Ceremony. Hermione’s insides froze but she faced him boldly, as bravely as a Gryffindor could. She knew why he was here. He was here to take away her son, her Adrian and she wasn’t going to let that happen until one breath was inside her body._

_“Mama will save you…mama will save you…mama will save you…” She kept chanting to herself and her son, though she had no idea how she was going to do that. She was trapped in a dark forest, her wand was gone, and a man with a snake that hissed malevolently was going to take her son away._

“Jean! Jean! Wake up!”

“Mama! Wake up!”

_Jacob reached for Hermione, his long fingered hand like the pointed legs of a spider, aiming at her little rabbit. But she shook her head. Like Harry’s mother she would die but would protect her son with her life!_

_“You can’t win! I’ll not let you win, Malfoy!” Hermione screamed defiantly, not knowing why she was addressing Jacob Jordeans as Draco Malfoy. “He’s my son! ADRIAN IS MY SON!” The little rabbit under her robes was shaking violently now, as if it too had sensed that a snake was after it._

_“He’s mine…he’s mine… he’s mine…” came a cold, spine-chilling and very familiar drawl. Jacob was talking in Draco Malfoy’s voice. How that was possible, Hermione neither knew nor cared. Her only concern was his vile, tentacle like hands which reached her bosom. He was now trying to extricate the little rabbit she was hugging protectively. “Give him to me…he’s mine…I need him…he’s mine…” His horrible rasping whisper reverberated in the air and like a Dementor’s cold breath it froze Hermione’s very soul. She felt like she was never going to be happy again._

“NOOOO! ADRIANNNNNN!” Hermione screamed and sat bolt upright, panting heavily. A scream followed hers.

“MAMAAAAA!”

Hermione felt a little body trembling against hers and opening her eyes, she saw Adrian, still in his red pajamas, hugging his mother tightly. The boy looked downright terrified. “Mama, wake up!” He tried to shake her to wakefulness. “Mama, I am here!” He said to her bosom.

“Adrian! Little rabbit!” Hermione exhaled in relief and wrapped her arms around him. She neither knew nor cared whether she was in that forest, it was storming and Jacob Jordeans was trying to take her son away. Adrian was with her, safe in her arms and it was all that mattered. Day, night, sun, moon, time, tide, Gringotts, France, Belgium - everything else could wait.

They sat on their bed for a while, silent, with Hermione feeling her son and Adrian assuring his mother that he was with her. Then someone spoke.

“Here, Jean, take some water.” Eva’s voice brought Hermione back to reality and focusing her eyes on her friend, she realized that all of them were in her bedroom, standing around her bed, looking alarmed. Edmound was a blue pajama with magenta dragon prints on it. Gabrielle and Eva were on their respective night dresses. Beyond the plush curtains of The Palace Hotel, it was still dark outside. Her eyes next searched the clock and she found it on the mantelpiece beside Adrian’s gold trophy. It was five o’ clock in the morning. So it was dream, a terribly bad dream, a horrific dream and she must have screamed and scared her poor little son and others.

“Merci.” Hermione accepted the goblet with a weak smile and feeling relaxed, slumped on her pillow. She was feeling like a fool now. Why didn’t she take Dreamless Sleep before going to bed? The Delacour’s family Healer had prescribed it and asked her to take it whenever she felt tense or apprehensive. Hermione finished the water in one go and placing the empty goblet on the nightstand, embraced her son who was hugging his mother as if his life depended on it. Now she needed to mend the damages she had made: assuring her poor, frightened son that she was fine.

“Adrian, Mama’s love, it is okay.” She stroked his messy curls and cooed into his ear, “Mama is alright now. She just had a bad dream.”

“I know it’s a bad dream! I know! You were dreaming that evil witch!” Adrian squealed and his embrace tightened around her neck. He wasn’t convinced by her words at all.

Hermione felt like slapping herself for foolishness. Why did she ever tell him that story about Bellatrix? Kids were more prone to get affected by such stories of torture; didn’t she know that? Besides, it was _her_ past, _her_ fears. Why was she infecting her son with her extreme inner fears? Her son needed to grow up strong and independent.

“Evil witch?” Eva asked, confused and she exchanged glances with Gabrielle who shrugged.

“Yes, evil witch!” Adrian affirmed, “The evil witch who cursed Mama. She gave her a lot of pain! Then Mama sent my real grandma and grandpa to Austra…lia.”

Hermione was feeling like crying now. Why didn’t she take the Dreamless Sleep? Adrian was almost six now and she should have separated his bed long ago. But the extreme fear and loneliness that she struggles and suffers from inside, had somehow prevented it. Who would believe that the Brain of the Golden Trio, the Gryffindor who fought Death Eaters twice or thrice her age, the first female Chief Curse Breaker in the history of Gringotts was actually a broken woman inside, that she was scared to sleep alone and wake up in the dark, alone? That she still had nightmares of that day, when she was brutally violated. That she still felt that pain of a hard phallus forced into her soft and unprepared core, of it pounding inside her, tearing her, breaking her, poisoning her and filling her with a fluid that meant that it was done: her rape was over. Who would believe that some wounds were beyond healing, some fears beyond any conquering? She could fight enemies who were visible but she had no hand on enemies and fears that were invisible and rooted deep inside.

“Oh that!” Eva looked troubled but she tried to smile and lighten the heavy air. “But didn’t Jean tell you that the evil witch is dead?”

“I did.” Hermione cleared her throat and replied, trying hard to not break into tears. The imprint of that horrific dream was still fresh on her mind but they could wait until she was alone in the bathroom. “Adrian, Mama’s dear little rabbit, the evil witch is dead. I told you.” Hermione said slowly and deliberately, trying to make him believe her. “A good witch, her name is Molly, killed the evil witch even before you were born. Mama wasn’t dreaming the evil witch.”

“Who were you dreaming then?” Adrian asked, not slackening his death grip on his mother an inch, “You were talking in your dream. You said ‘you’ll save me’!” He quoted his mother.

Hermione never lied to her son; it was a golden rule she followed at all costs. But she also couldn’t tell him that she was dreaming one of the judges of the Drawing Competition who sounded like Draco Malfoy. Her companions might think that she has finally lost it, her mind.

“I dreamt that we were stuck in a terrible storm. It was almost blowing us away.” Hermione replied truthfully, leaving out the rest of the dream. “I was scared that my dear son might get hurt and said that I’ll save him.”

“A storm?” Adrian looked up at his mother this time, his innocent grey eyes round. They were the exact shape and colour as Hermione’s rapist’s eyes were except that they were concerned and slightly astonished. For the first time since her waking up, Hermione realized that how very different the two people with the same eyes were: Draco Malfoy was her destroyer, tormentor, torturer; someone whose thought still scared her, gave her nightmares; and Adrian was her son, her blood, her soul, her solace, someone without whom she couldn’t go to sleep. Besides, one had no hand on his or her looks, just as one had no hand on his parentage. Hermione wasn’t going to begrudge her son for what happened to her. That kid was innocent and almost as unfortunate as his mother. He had no one but her.

“Yes, Adrian. A big storm.” Hermione smiled and nodded, kissing her son on the forehead. “Remember the storm that destroyed grandpa’s flower beds last summer? It was bigger than that.” She spread her arms wide, showing him how big the storm was.

“I’ll fight the storm.” Adrian declared boldly, his grey eyes filled with innocent rage. “No one can hurt my Mama!” He proclaimed.

“That’s like my man!” Edmound came forward and stroked Adrian’s curls. Hermione noticed that he exchanged an eye contact with his sister, Eva, who nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Yeah, Adrian will fight the storm.” She said and Gabrielle too joined the group. Soon the conversation moved to storm, God of storm - Zeus, and his messenger, the eagle. Edmound was always enthusiastic about animals and Adrian loved animals. Together, they started talking about eagles and how they hunted. Preferring not to talk, lest it should reveal her inner fears and the real contents of the dream, Hermione remained silent and listened to Edmound and Adrian’s chattering. The kid looked happy and relieved now.

At seven o’ clock, the Palace Hotel, on Eva’s request served them with bed tea and breakfast. It was clear that no one felt like returning to bed. Soon the owl posts started arriving, delivering the day’s newspapers to Hermione. Everyone, on their nightclothes, sat down and ate as Gabrielle read out the main stories to everyone. Listening to her, Hermione felt proud of her son and watching him pour over his photos, accepting the prize and riding on the shoulders of venerable judges, felt sad at the same time. She missed her parents, family and friends more than ever now. They would have been so proud! But as always Draco Malfoy, with his invisible inflictions over their lives, has destroyed the happiness she and her son both deserved. Hermione hated him for doing this. She just hated him!

It was strange how human mind jumped from one topic to another, no matter how unrelated they might be. From Draco Malfoy, the man Hermione hated with every fiber of her being, her thoughts jumped straight to Ron Weasley, the man she still loved and missed. If he were Adrian’s father, the scenario would have been totally different.

She must have sighed too deeply because Eva placed her soft hand on Hermione’s, “Jean? Is everything alright?” She asked cautiously.

“Yeah!” Hermione gave her a charming smile over her cup of tea, “I am fine.”

Eva looked doubtful to accept her smile and statement. But in the end, she nodded and went back to her coffee. Hermione looked at Gabrielle; she was giving her a pensive gaze. She wondered whether she would write to Apolline about today’s incident. She had seen what had happened that evening, in the bathroom. What if she made the connections? Hermione needed to talk to Gabrielle later, when Adrian wasn’t around and convince her that she was alright, that she was not losing her sanity.

“Adrian, don’t you want to tell grandma and grandpa about the prize?” Hermione was suddenly struck with a nice idea. The good breakfast was slowly knocking some sense into her and she was feeling loads better. Besides, thinking of Apolline and Gustave always made her happy. They were like shades over her roofless head.

“I do.” Adrian looked up from his almond-milk. It was for the first time that he was drinking milk with such eagerness and caution so that a drop didn’t spill. Hermione was having a feeling that the fight over his half-empty glass of milk was finally over; winning the prize has done its other benefits on her son. “I’ll talk to them in the Floo.” He piped happily.

“No, not the Floo!” Hermione shook her head, “I think we should write them a letter.” She proposed, sitting cross legged and purposeful as her audiences stared at her, “How about we take a long piece of parchment, cut the news clippings,” she showed them all the eight newspapers strewn on their unmade bed, “glue it to the paper and send it to them? I have already written mother about the competition. When they’ll see that Adrian is on the news, they’ll understand what happened. It’ll be a good surprise!” She smiled brightly.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Gabrielle approved right away. The others nodded and after a ‘I like it’ squeal from Adrian, they all got to work. Eva and Edmound chewed toasts and cut out the news clips, Gabrielle trimmed their sides and Hermione, with her son, glued them on the parchment that would soon be a one a kind letter to Apolline, Gustave, and Alexis. They chatted happily, occasionally arranging and rearranging the news cuttings and Hermione was happy to see that no one seemed to remember her nightmare anymore. When the letter was finally done, after an hour, the five feet long parchment had at least thirty clippings of variable sizes and shapes, all arranged on it like a paper quilt.

“I don’t think maman ever received anything like that.” Gabrielle seemed satisfied with their handiwork, her blue eyes twinkling in interest. She folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope and handed it to the man beside her. “Edmound, have it posted.”

Hermione was astonished at the authority the seventeen year old was exercising over her friend. But it was nothing new to her. Be it Apolline, Fleur and now Gabrielle, they all knew how to control their men and at the same time be their sweet hearts. A deep sigh escaped her heart when she remembered her man, Ron. She too liked to boss over him and be caressed, protected and loved by him. The feel of his lips was still on hers, when they had kissed for first and last time during the Battle of Hogwarts. It felt so close and yet so far away.

“Jean, I was wondering if we could spend the day by the pool?” Edmound, following his ‘her majesty the Veela’s’ order was about to leave the bed to post the letter and offered Hermione. “It’s a nice sunny day outside.” He drew Hermione’s attention to the weather, “We could swim and enjoy the sun.”

“Yeah, fine.” Hermione smiled and Edmound left, still in his dragon print blue pajamas. The man surely needed to learn some basic dress codes now that he was dating Gabrielle. The breakfast now over Adrian went to wash his hands and Gabrielle went to retrieve her swim suits. Only Eva stayed behind. Hermione wondered whether she was going to probe her about the dream.

“You know, Jean, I never liked Veelas much.” She confessed instead, watching Gabrielle’s retreating form, “They are so bossy that it’s really hard to put up with them. But after watching Gabrielle and Edmound, I think she’s the right person for my brother; would put him straight.”

“I hope so.” Hermione replied, internally relieved that the dream topic was over. She left the bed and Eva left for her suite too. But somehow, over the course of the day, Jacob Jordean’s face came popping inside her head. Why was she dreaming him? Did it mean a bad omen?

Hermione, being the logical person she was, didn’t believe in nonsense as omens. She never did the one on The Grim; these were all superstitions cooked up by ignorant minds as Trelawney’s who loved to sell their ideas. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake off the ominous feeling.

It felt as if a storm was really about to come, a storm that would blow her and Adrian away from the tree, and the shelter they were under: the Delacours.

•••••

According to Prince Hamlet, frailty! Thy name was woman! A Muggle playwright, William Shakespeare, once wrote that famous line. In his lifetime, he never had the misfortune to be introduced to the Malfoys of Wiltshire. Otherwise, the line would have been rewritten as ‘Curiosity, thy name was Malfoy’.

Draco was six when he first visited the local Muggle funfair with his mother. Lucius’s detest for Muggles was no big secret and it was therefore, an unspoken rule in the Malfoy Manor to not visit any such gathering where those scum were prominent. Narcissa, although she was from _the Noble and Ancient House of Blacks_ , wasn’t that severe on the Muggles. Besides, she always put her son’s happiness before her husband’s strict orders. So when one day Draco, from the windows of his grand suite saw the multi-coloured streamers in distance and heard that a funfair was underway, he expressed desire to visit it, to his mother. He knew his father would never grant his wish.

“Narcissa, I don’t want my son to mix with those vermin.” Lucius adjusted his bow-tie and told his wife. He was off to an important meeting with the Minister of Magic, on the Dark Lord’s behest. “Don’t forget we are Malfoys.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lucius!” Narcissa cried softly. She helped her husband into his coat and stood before him, her blue eyes fixed on his grey pairs, “He is not going alone. I’ll be with him.” She said with a charming smile that she knew would surely persuade her husband. “He’s just a boy! Don’t spoil his fun.”

Lucius gazed at his wife for a long moment and sighed at last, defeated. Narcissa did know how to handle her husband, he thought. She smiled and reading his thoughts correctly, kissed softly on his lips. “I love you.” She whispered into his ears.

Curiosity thy name was Malfoy and Draco, curious to see what happened when his mother asked his father to take him to the Muggle funfair, witnessed the entire interaction from his hideout in their wardrobe. He was always curious to things or people that drew his attention. For seven years, Harry Potter had topped that list.

That day, after her husband left for London, Narcissa took her son to the Muggle funfair. It was Draco’s first time in such a place. There were numerous stalls with games he never knew existed: the hoopla, Ball-in-the-basket, Hit-the-bell, popping the balloons and so on. His hand under Narcissa’s firm grasp, he watched everything and everyone with a sense of awe admixed with superiority. He was a _Malfoy_ and these Muggle games were way below him. But soon he lost interest and asked his mother to take him back to the Manor. That was then that he saw it: a house of Mirrors.

Curiosity thy name was Malfoy and feeling curious, Draco sneaked into the place. It was a maze full of mirrors of various sizes. Walking and watching his normal and sometimes distorted reflection in them, he soon got lost. Every time he thought he spotted a door out and rushed to it, it was actually a mirror. He collided with them and after three quarter of an hour he finally came out, finding his way out of the giant labyrinth of mirrors. Narcissa took firm vow that day: she was never going to take her precious son to a _Muggle_ funfair.

_Strangely, almost eighteen years after that incident, Draco found himself in a House of Mirrors once again. It was very bright, the light reflecting on thousands of mirrors and almost blinding him. As soon as his eyes adjusted, Draco spotted a thousand other Dracos around him. They were all looking at him, turning as he turned, shrugging as he shrugged and walking as he walked. Draco started to have a feeling that he was trapped here, with no one but himself._

_He stood still for a while, trying to make a map of the maze inside his head. Haste was going to ruin his plan and delay his escape. The always impatient Malfoys knew when to be patient. Slow, Draco, slow - he told himself. With a cool head, he needed to find a way out._

_After ten minutes, he started walking carefully. Finding an actual door was tricky in a mirror maze and he needed to be cautious in the maneuver. He kept walking for what seemed like ages, taking right and left turns and was almost near what looked like a real door when he saw him in a mirror: a boy just like he was when he was six. He was standing at Draco’s right side. Except for the platinum blonde curls he looked like a miniature Draco in red pajamas._

_“Adrian!” Draco gasped. What the hell was his son doing inside this perilous maze?_

_“Adrian, how did you…” Draco turned to his right and blinked. There was no boy in red pajamas standing beside him!_

_“Adrian?” Confused, he looked back at the mirror. The boy could be seen there, standing beside Draco, looking innocent and scared._

_What was happening? The boy wasn’t beside him but he was in the mirror! Draco walked to it and touched his son’s reflection. Cold and smooth glass came under his palm. Was Adrian trapped inside the mirror? Or was it his reflection? Why couldn’t he reach him?_

_“Adrian?” Draco whispered, a deep furrow between his brows. “Son, are you trapped inside?” he asked the boy._

_No one replied. Perplexed, Draco looked at the other mirrors. Adrian could be seen in all of them, standing beside Draco, looking timid like the little rabbit he had been when he was awarded his gold trophy. There were a thousand Adrian beside a thousand Draco._

_An intense fear gripped Draco’s heart. Did it mean that he was hallucinating? That he has finally lost his mind in pursuit of a son he so desired? No! He needed to prove that he was sane! That he was not mad! It was all true!_

_“Adrian!” Draco pounded frantically on the mirrors, determined to smash them, free his son, and reach him at all costs. Adrian was his son, his blood, his soul and he wasn’t going to leave him until one breath was left in his body._

_“Adrian! Adrian! Adrian!” Draco’s fists hurt from constant hitting of the smooth and hard mirrors but they wouldn’t break. He felt trapped. “You are mine! You are mine! I need you! I’ll die without you! Come to father! Come to me!” he tried to pursue the boy to come to him._

“Draco! Draco, wake up!”

_Adrian’s reflection or Adrian himself, whatever it was, was slowing leaving Draco. For the first time since finding himself in the House of Mirrors, he panicked._

_“Adrian! No! Don’t go! Father will die!” Draco pleaded, his fists now bloodied from constant pounding. It left a red irregular smear over the mirrors. He searched for his wand but in vain. It wasn’t with him. Desperate, Draco looked for something, anything that he could use to smash the mirrors and take his son out, prevent him from leaving. But there was nothing. He was alone and before his eyes, Adrian was leaving, leaving him alone, all alone!_

“NOOOOOO!” Draco screamed and sat bolt upright, colliding with someone. His eyes flew open and Audré came into view. He was sitting on his bed, fully dressed, and his hands were made into fists and outstretched, as if it reaching for an invisible Adrian.

“Relax, nephew!” Audré said gently, trying to assure Draco. “It was only a dream.”

“Ye…ah.” Draco stammered and gulped, wiping sweat off his face. He was completely drenched. It was only a dream, a dream that felt strangely vivid and lifelike.

“Here, take some water.” Audré handed him a goblet and feeling too thirsty Draco finished it in one go. It never occurred to him to ask what she was doing in his bed chamber. His mind was on a whirlwind. Did that dream mean something? Was that Mudblood taking his son and leaving? Has she found out that he has broken into her suite last night? Has she spotted that Adrian’s white shirt, that he has brought with him as a relic, was missing from her closet?

Draco couldn’t rest until he found out the meaning of that damned dream. He needed to know what was happening.

In one spring and two long strides he was on his broom and without paying further notice to his aunt, was off through the open window, not forgetting to cast a Disillusionment Charm to hide his presence.

Hermione’s Granger’s suite on the thirteenth floor was empty when he flew in. Draco’s heart missed two beats. Leaving all pretence of the previous night, when he had carefully walked and inspected, he rushed into Adrian’s bedroom.

His first impression was that they have left. Everything was neat and clean: the bed made, no crumpled sock or yellow T-shirt or colouring pencils in the vicinity. Draco stood there for a while, his breath coming at irregular bursts and observed his surroundings. Then he went to the closet and threw open the door roughly.

He exhaled in relief.

The Mudblood’s clothes were still in the upper two shelves and Adrian’s, in the lower two. That meant they haven’t left, they were still in Brussels. Feeling relaxed, Draco duplicated the white shirt he had taken earlier and replaced it. There was no trusting that bloody Gryffindor. What if she spotted that a shirt was missing and probed the matter? Draco couldn’t afford to lose Adrian; he was too precious for him.

With one last sweep of the bedroom and feeling slightly annoyed that he couldn’t meet his son on a sunny Sunday morning, Draco left Hermione’s suite. When he returned to his suite on the west side of the Palace Hotel, Audré was nowhere to be seen.

Draco decided to take a bath, get dressed and pursue after his aunt. After that he needed to find out where that Mudblood has taken his son.

Curiosity thy name was Malfoy and when Draco Malfoy wanted something or someone from his heart, it had never happened that he didn’t get it.

It wasn’t going to be an exception this time, either.

•••••

_My dear Mrs. Malfoy,_

_I know you were called that most of your life and still are. I, on the other hand, was called Madame Malfoy or simply ‘Audré’ by those who are close to me. I knew they meant no offense but somehow it sounded like I was the ‘other’ Malfoy, the ‘unwanted’ Malfoy. I never knew how was it like to be called ‘Mrs. Malfoy’ or more accurately, Mrs. Audré Malfoy._

_Am I getting carried away? Maybe I am. Otherwise, why should a French woman suddenly express the desire to be addressed the English way? But it so happens that my dear nephew wants me to accompany him to England after our Brussels tour is over. So, I was wondering whether that small dream of mine, to be called Mrs. Audré Malfoy, would come true this time._

_Draco is doing well; eating and sleeping more regularly than he did in the Château. While his body is doing that, his thoughts are occupied by Adrian. He found him, of course, and his mother too. He is a Malfoy and I have hardly seen them fail on their missions. How he found the boy and his mother, I think it would be better if you ask your son when you meet him next time. It’s a long story and certainly not one to be written in a letter._

_Lillian wrote to me yesterday. It seems that in my absence, she is finally learning how to manage a household. When I compare her with Julian, I realize that girls grow up faster than boys, at least their mentality does._

_With regards,_

_The ‘other’ Mrs. Malfoy, Audré._

Audré finished writing her letter to Narcissa and sealed it before delivering it to the Palace Hotel’s special postal service. They had been on regular correspondence since she came to Brussels almost a week ago; Narcissa was relying on her sister-in-law to take care of her only son. She certainly couldn’t disappoint her guest.

Audré sighed. The mystery regarding Adrian and his mother was intensifying with each passing day. First she had thought that Adrian was Lucius’s son by some secret mistress. That Malfoys would have a mistress or two wasn’t something very unusual. Most traditional pureblood families had a few sideline heirs, to be handy. In fact it was a wonder that Draco had none, that he was faithful to Astoria. Audré was privately surprised but had preferred not to show it before him and Narcissa.

But in the end it turned out that she was wrong about that kid; Adrian was Draco’s son by a woman he had never expected. He knew her, of course, that much was clear from his horrified expressions. But how they ended up having a son that he didn’t know of until bumping into him at the Tuileries was the ultimate mystery.

The boy, Audré had shaken hands with him during the Prize Giving Ceremony and had noticed, was a miniature Draco. It was no wonder that her nephew was playing the odds to have him. In fact, who wouldn’t? The kid was talented, good looking and well brought up and Draco was a father who had lost all his sons. Like a thirsty man in search of water, he was walking on a desert and suddenly came by an oasis that he never knew existed. Who would leave that son? If she knew Draco, which she did, he would turn the world upside down to have that boy.

Audré let out a contemplative sigh. Speaking of Draco’s son reminded her something: by virtue of the relationship they shared, Adrian was her grandson. Her grandson! Her grandson? The word sounded so close to her heart! Wasn’t it one of her dreams to have a little grandchild of her own? One she could hug, cuddle, play and read stories to? One who would bring her back to life? But Julian wasn’t remotely interested in marriage. Every time Audré asked him to look for a partner and settle down to make his own family, he’d somehow avoid the topic. Now with emergence of Draco’s son, it seemed that that dream of hers, however indirectly, was fulfilled. Somewhere in this world, Audré, too had a grandson.

Audré leaned against her divan. It was early morning and the sunlight was slowly illuminating her darkened seating room. Until last night she was set to act as a mere spectator. She had a feeling that her time to play parts in this game would arrive very soon and like a good player, it was her duty to get to know the other players: Draco, Jean, Adrian, and Narcissa.

But another new addition to this puzzle has been made; she was a woman named Fleur Delacour. Draco had said that she was married to an Englishman and by the looks of it, she lived in England.

Delacour? Delacour? Delacour? Audré frowned. Where has she heard that name? Was it in the newspapers? Audré had hardly read them after Morpheus passed away almost a decade ago. There was nothing interesting except for cheap gossips or Ministry news in French newspapers. Delacour? Audré rubbed her eyes. She was feeling tired now.

Audré was insomniac. Except for an hour in the dawn, she hardly ever slept at night. She mostly spent it by reading books or playing chess alone. But after last night, when Draco asked her to accompany him to England to look for some answers regarding Adrian, she hadn’t been able to blink a sleep. She had spent the entire night sitting on a divan by the empty fireplace and losing herself in the past, the horrific past that she had witnessed inside someone’s memories.

Malfoy Manor! All those memories! That woman! That dungeon! The torture!

Audré had closed her eyes and those scenes kept replaying before her mind. Horrified, she had tried to blink as minimum as possible. She could try and block the scenes but how was she going to block their screams that kept ringing in her head? Desperate Audré had covered her ears. The mere thought of visiting her husband’s old home was sending a shiver down her spine. She was confused now. Should she accompany Draco or excuse herself?

With that on mind, Audré had left her suite and knocked on Draco’s door. His suite was just across to hers, on the seventh floor. She had knocked at least five times and when no one answered, Audré decided to check it.

It was nine o’ clock and Draco was still sleeping. He hadn’t taken the trouble to change into night clothes and was sleeping, fully dressed. The curtains also weren’t drawn and bedroom was as sunny as the day outside. Around her, the room was messy, Audré had noticed immediately. Unwashed robes, shirts, trousers and socks were strewn across the table, bed and floor. Draco was too untidy for his own good. Audré shook her head, collected the clothes and put them on the laundry basket in the bathroom. She was about to leave when Draco made a gurgling sound.

Audré had stopped on her track and turned. Draco was slowly writhing in his bed and making the gurgling sound, as if something was obstructing his airway and he was unable breathe properly.

Alarmed, Audré had rushed to her nephew. “Draco? Draco?” She had lifted his head up, trying to see whether it was phlegm that had accumulated and blocked his breathing passage or a tongue fall-back. “Draco! Draco, wake up!”

“Adrian! No! Don’t go! Father will die!” Her nephew, instead of waking, started throwing his limbs wildly, pleading to his invisible son. His hands were fisted and he was pounding on something, relentlessly, as if trying to break it and release the boy.

“Draco!” When in peril, Audré knew to keep her head cool. “Wake up! It’s a dream! Wake up, nephew!” She had shaken the man who was pretty heavy for her and was about to employ her special skills in calming him when he suddenly sat bolt upright with a loud scream.

“NOOOOOO!”

Draco had collided with Audré, who was almost thrown off the bed from the force. She had balanced herself immediately and paid attention to her nephew who was staring vacantly at someone, his hand stretched before him.

“Here, take some water.” Audré had handed Draco a goblet. The transfixed man had finished it in one go, jumped out of his bed, ridden on a broom and flew out of his bedroom, without paying further notice to her or explaining what he had dreamed.

The mystery behind how he was entering Adrian’s suite now solved, Audré had returned to her suite and sat down to write to Narcissa. It was settled now. She was going to England with Draco. Her curiosity has won over her fear for the Malfoy Manor.

Not even twenty minutes passed after Audré finished her letter to Narcissa and was sitting alone, immersed in her thoughts about Fleur Delacour when Draco knocked and entered her suite. He looked better now, bathed and in a new set of black attire.

“Sorry about that.” He took the seat across Audré and smiled apologetically, “I just had to check something urgently.”

“You thought Adrian has left.” Audré said idly. That much was clear even to a troll and she was Audré Chombrun Malfoy.

Draco nodded. “He is still in Brussels but they are not in their suite. Maybe that mu…” he tsk’ed and made a bitter face, “…his mother took him out.”

Audré didn’t miss how Draco promptly corrected himself. What was he meaning? Why was he so angry with Jean Granger? Audré decided to not probe. Her experiences said that patience was a virtue and she was just a spectator now, watching the players move across the board.

“This woman you told me about last night,” Audré went straight to the other point that troubled her mildly, “Fleur Delacour. Who is she?”

“She was the Beauxbatons Champion for Triwizard tournament on 1994.” Draco replied flatly, “ _Apparently_ Adrian and his mother lives with her family in France. I want you to help me find out how they ended up there.”

Audré noted how Draco was referring to Jean Granger either as ‘Adrian’s mother’ or as ‘her’ and never by her given name. “Why _me_?” She asked him, deciding to suppress the actual question ‘why they ended up there’.

“Because you are a French woman and she is a French too.” Draco replied, his expression calm and truthful, “I trust in your lawyer skills, aunt. It was you who gave me that idea about the sketch; it was you who told mother that I was not hallucinating Adrian. So, if anyone can coerce her to divulge the secrets about my son, it’s you.”

“Was that a complement or a criticism?” Audré rested her chin on her palm and asked.

“I would certainly not criticize the person who is helping me on my pursuits.” Draco replied solemnly.

“Well then do you know where Delacour lives?” Audré resumed her earlier questioning.

“No. But I’ll find out.” Draco replied, a glint of superiority in his eyes, “She is married to man named Bill Weasley. The Death Eaters gate-crashed their wedding party. My _dearest_ aunt, Bellatrix, was there when it happened and I heard it from her. She loved the Weasleys a lot; used to say that Blood-traitors were on her list after Mudbloods.” 

“Were you ever an active Death Eater, Draco, like your father?” Audré asked, feeling like clarifying the point whether he was one of those who gate-crashed the wedding.

“No.” Draco shook his head firmly, scratching absent-mindedly over his left forearm, “Even father wasn’t active in the end. The Dark Lord took away his wand and he was barred from leaving the Manor. The only Malfoy allowed out was me; I had to attend Hogwarts. The Dark Lord said it was compulsory.”

“I see.” Audré commented and decided to change the topic, “So with Adrian out with his mother, we are free today? Right?” She said pleasantly, subtly reminding him that they haven’t taken a tour of the beautiful city they were visiting. 

“Yeah.” Draco pinched his lower lip thoughtfully, “I was wondering how to spend the time until he returned.”

“Draco, I don’t usually give advices for free.” Audré said, deciding to address the unhealthy obsession her nephew was displaying for Adrian lately, “But it’s always good to have a reasonable amount of emotion in everything we do. Extreme love, extreme hatred, extreme eagerness – any extreme emotion does us more harm than good.”

“I know.” Draco said thoughtfully, “I know what you mean, aunt. It’s that dream. You are thinking that I am obsessed with Adrian.”

“No, nephew, you are obsessed with _losing_ him.” Audré corrected the statement, “You have lost your sons and it haunts you to think that you might lose Adrian too.”

Draco didn’t reply. He averted looking at Audré and after a few silent moments, made a strange offer.

“It’s a sunny day.” He said, drawing her attention to the weather, “We could go and sit by the swimming pool, for a change you know.”

Audré nodded. She understood that Draco was reluctant to leave the perimeter of the Palace Hotel lest he should miss Adrian coming. They took their breakfasts in her suite and Audré, after changing into a simple and more airy dress appropriate for sunbath in the modesty of his age and widowhood, followed her nephew out. Draco, she noted, didn’t take any swimming costumes with him.

Like everything in Palace Hotel from their rooms, corridors and suites to their Ball room and Dining Hall, their swimming pool, too, was a gigantic one. Fifty meters on length and twenty-five meters on breadth, the Olympic-sized ‘S’-shaped swimming pool was placed on the south side of the palace building with a good view of the east and west entrances. For Draco, whose eyes were constantly fixed on the entrances, it was a good strategic point to hide and keep watch, waiting silently for Adrian to return.

Around the pool was a grassy area dotted with deciduous trees and colourful stand umbrellas. Audré took a chaise lounge under the shade of an oversized blue umbrella and reclined her body comfortably. She felt tired and could do with a short nap by the pool. Cacophony of voices and splashes alike greeted her ears. It seemed that every guest at Palace Hotel was out to enjoy the sun by the pool and swim.

“Adrian likes playing with water.” She heard Draco comment. Sitting on a chaise lounge beside her, he was gazing unblinkingly at the East side entrance, as if expecting the boy to sprout from the ground.

“And his father?” Audré asked, mildly curious.

Draco’s lips twitched into a proud smile. He seemed to like being called Adrian’s ‘father’, as if it gave him a sense of immense accomplishment. “He too likes it. Adrian has gone after his _father_ in every matter. Looks, drawing, playing with wate…” He turned his gaze to the swimming pool and stopped abruptly, “Adrian!” He gasped suddenly.

“Adrian?” Audré, confused, followed Draco’s gaze and couldn’t help but thank her lady luck. On the other side of the fifty meter long pool, she could see the little boy who was the real reason for them to visit Brussels: Adrian. There were other kids around him. But his silvery blonde curls were too prominent to escape one’s eyes. He was on a pair of blue boxers, wearing a ring buoy and swimming or better say playing with water with a man whom Audré had seen entering the Ball Room carrying Adrian on his strong shoulders.

“Adrian!” Draco’s voice caressed the name delicately and like a man on trance, he left the lounge seat.

“Draco?” Audré sat straight but he ignored her call. With a foreboding feeling she saw him edge the swimming pool and slip into it, fully dressed and suddenly vanished.

“Draco!” Audré gasped.

•••••

Living in the dungeons of a thousand years old castle wasn’t an easy task. One felt trapped and imprisoned, spending most of their days without sunlight and fresh air. Hogwarts was built centuries ago and its dungeons were the ones that were built on the primary stage. Centuries have passed since then, leaving its imprints on the stone castle but unable to change the deep bowels of dungeons.

The Slytherin House Dormitory was under the Black Lake. The atmosphere was colder there, even in the sweltering hot summers. Draco was brought up to believe that every Malfoy must be in a Slytherin. Otherwise, he would have hated the place immensely. He detested being cold.

The only upside of his cold and damp dormitory was the vast swimming pool it housed. It was directly connected with the Black Lake and the water, therefore, was wonderfully fresh and green. Stone gargoyles and serpents regurgitated water into the pool. Girls and boys alike swam in it.

Draco loved swimming, especially underwater. Unlike most Slytherins he was lean but strong and with good lung capacity, an essential feature for underwater swimmers. Water was like his second home and playing pranks, his second nature. There had been numerous occasions when he had swum under unsuspecting swimmers and pulled them by their legs, making them almost drown. Aside from cursing Longbottom it was one of his most favourite pranks. And no one had to the courage to actually complain about him, a Malfoy, to their Head of the House, Snape. Montague, Flint, Warrington even Millicent Bulstrode would first check the water to ensure it was Draco-free before stepping into the pool. Crabbe and Goyle, to Draco’s dismay, were too fat to actually float. He just loved kicking their fat butts and feel superior.

Draco reluctantly accompanied his aunt to the swimming pool. He wasn’t feeling like swimming at all. Inside he was burning that the Mudblood was having fun with his son while he was forced to spend the morning alone and idle. His sole concern was Adrian and there was not a better way to see if he returned than hiding by the swimming pool and watching the entrances. Besides, his aunt looked tired and ill. The sun and air would do her good. At least that was the initial plan.

But as soon as Draco saw Adrian, playing on the other side of the pool, his concerns about his aunt evaporated like camphor. Like a man on trance he went to the water and slipped in. He was going to watch his son from up close.

Draco was fully dressed these days; he even went to sleep in black attire. But not being on a swimming costume didn’t impede his swimming skills to the least. In fact, he felt wonderfully free and fresh. The water was pleasantly cool.

Swimming like a tadpole underwater, he approached the boy. To help in the maneuver, he casted Disillusionment and Bubblehead Charms on himself. Now he could relax and swim, as long as he liked, without having to go up for air.

Adrian, Draco saw and his guts constricted in anger, was swimming with that damned muscular guy who had carried him on his shoulders: Edmound. He was showing Adrian how to float, both on his front and back and for a moment, Draco felt that his right as a father to teach his son swimming was being robbed away from him, illegally. He fisted his hands and grinded his teeth. Edmound! How dare he! How dare he tries to take Adrian’s father’s place! 

With most of his head under water, Draco checked for any trace of Hermione Granger using his eyes only, like a submersed alligator did to find his prey on land. He found her sitting on a chaise lounge beside that blasted Eva. Like Draco’s aunt, she too was wearing a modest white dress. She was chatting animatedly with Eva, her eyes fixed on her son who was in the water with Edmound. Draco wondered if she was envisioning a happy family with the brown muscular guy as her husband and Adrian’s step father. He remembered the dream he had and clenched his teeth. He would kill that Mudblood and her lover if she dared to do so. Adrian was his son and his son only! No one could take him away from him.

“Put your head back and look up at the sky.” Edmound was instructing Adrian loudly enough for Draco to hear. He was teaching the boy to back float without a ring buoy, “You see the clouds?”

“I do.” Adrian piped happily, “It’s shaped like a butterfly.” He was wearing a pair of orange goggles and bright green flippers and looked very cute.

Following his words, Draco looked up at the sky. A thin film of cloud was slowly moving across the blue backdrop. Indeed, it looked like a butterfly, its wings spread.

“Now rest your head on my shoulder.” Edmound told the boy and Adrian obeyed, making Draco’s insides churn. He hated it when that guy talked to his son like that, as if Adrian was his son and not Draco’s.

“Put your belly button up in the sky.” Edmound instructed and Adrian erected his spine, spreading his arms wide on his sides. They kept talking with Edmound adjusting Adrian’s body weight on the water and teaching him to slowly float without a support. Draco watched him, half resentful, half jealous.

It was not until an hour later that he finally got the chance to take revenge. With basic skills of floating lessons done, Adrian used a ring buoy to swim to Gabrielle and return to Edmound. He did it for half an hour and when his blasted Mudblood mother said that it was enough for a day, he left the water and went to the changing room. Gabrielle, too followed Hermione and Adrian and with no one but Eva by the pool, Edmound started swimming freely.

Like a shark after blood trail, Draco followed him from underneath, stealthily. Edmound was a good swimmer but not as good as Draco, he noted with sadistic pleasure. He was doing a backstroke when he decided to strike.

•••••

Edmound was enjoying his swimming with his thoughts on a pair of interesting cats he had seen in a pet shop in _Laan Grote Markt_. They were Siamese twins. The shopkeeper had asked fifty galleons for the pair, a price too high for them and Edmound had left in annoyance. After he completed the backstroke, he would visit the shop again and see if he could lower the price.   

Edmound loved animals and the rarer and dangerous they were the better. He was imagining the cats when he suddenly felt a tentacle – like something wrapping itself around his right ankle. When he came to his senses, it was already too late. The tentacle was pulling him down.

Edmound was a good swimmer but he couldn’t swim underwater. That was one of his weak points because his muscular body was too heavy for it. He didn’t get time to catch a breath or think more. With a firm jerk that threw him off guard, the tentacle started to pull him under water.

“Help!” Edmound yelled and started kicking the tentacle with his free leg. The water was deepest here, almost twenty feet and it was almost impossible to see what was pulling him down. He fought to keep his head above the water and regain balance. Numerous possibilities popped up in his head. Was it a Chameleon Squid? Those notorious creatures were known to blend themselves with their surroundings and prey on unsuspecting merpeople. But how could a squid come in a hotel swimming pool? Was it a stray rope then? But how could it pull him down like a vile squid or octopus?  

“HELP!” Edmound called desperately when the tentacle kept tugged his ankle insistently. It was a bad idea for the scream cost him all his remaining few breaths. He was completely under water now and it pushed down on him from all sides.

Like a blind mad man, Edmound threw his limbs wildly, clawing at anything that he could use as support. But the more he struggled the more disorientated he got. Faces swum into view: his mother, Eva, Gabrielle, Hermione and Adrian, the Siamese cats he thought he would buy but nothing made sense anymore.  He pushed with his arms and legs but he could find no leverage.    
His lungs burned for air and even though he knew he would get none, his body still took a breath. Cold water filled his lungs and blood pounded behind his eyes. Death was near. Maybe this was how it looked like: merciless and fast.

Then just as suddenly it had happened, he felt the tentacle free his ankle. A strong thrust pushed him up and he knew no more. Darkness engulfed him completely.

•••••

Apolline Delacour’s scrapbook could easily find its way to the Louvre Museum. The thirty-five years old vintage memorabilia contained numerous photographs: of her parents who were no more; of her elder brother, Adrian, the celebrated Auror; of her wedding and of her children: Alexis, Fleur and Gabrielle when they were young. Interspersed between the photographs she had pasted her old letters, even the ones that Gustave had written to her before their marriage. Other materials were artworks of little Adrian, and newspaper cuttings. They were mostly on his brother, of how he fought and captured dark wizards and was considered one of the bravest and most successful Aurors France has ever produced. A few were on Fleur when she became the Beauxbatons Champion for Triwizard Tournament. Her daughter, Apolline was proud to say, has gone after her uncle Adrian when it came to courage.

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and Apolline was sitting in her kitchen, reading the letter from Brussels for the tenth time after showing it to the entire neighbourhood. It was a very creative letter, with no words but newspaper cuttings from top to bottom. There were altogether thirty of them, Apolline had counted and they were all on Adrian, her dearest little grandson who has won a Drawing Competition last night.

From the moment Adrian was born, Apolline had felt a strange attachment for the little being. He was a child of violence, a baby no one but his mother had wanted to have. Apolline had always admired Hermione’s courage. Even she wouldn’t have kept a baby conceived from a brutal assault and she was a midwife, someone who was supposed to value life and not its inception. But Hermione Jean Granger had kept the baby and Apolline certainly couldn’t be more impressed. Not every woman could show such humanity, as Hermione had.

In last six and a half years, somehow Hermione and her son Adrian, whom she had named after Apolline’s brother, has become an integral part of the Delacour family. Apolline had, many a times, considered asking her hand for her son, Alexis. Hermione was just the woman she had dreamt to have as her daughter-in-law: kind, compassionate, brave, protective, intelligent, argumentative, logical and caring at the same time. She also had close ties with the French. Could someone ask for more? Maybe she was assaulted but that was not her fault. Why should the survivor be forced to bear the stigma while the assaulter fooled around? Apolline was vehemently against this sick social norm. Hermione was one of finest woman she has ever come across and Apolline secretly hoped that one day, the mother and son truly became a part of their family.

“I have always wondered who will inherit that scrapbook one day.” Alexis’s thoughtful question brought Apolline back to reality. He was standing next to her, his black eyes fixed at the letter Hermione had sent this morning. Apolline noted in them a strange longing and sadness, as if he too wanted to be there, with that kid when he was presented his award.

“I’ll give it to your wife.” Apolline replied calmly. Time has come that she addressed the issue seriously. “I hope to have her in our family,” She said pointedly, “soon.” She added.

Alexis looked away, avoiding meeting his mother’s blue eyes. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, maman.” He said with a lost smile, “Why don’t you give it my sisters? Fleur, perhaps?”

“Fleur will receive my mother’s jewelries.” Apolline replied firmly, “I couldn’t give her much on her wedding except for that pearl set maman gave me on my wedding. And Gabrielle? She will receive the emerald necklace your uncle Adrian gave me when I turned seventeen. And _your_ wife, Alexis, and my daughter-in-law, will receive all the Delacour family heirlooms and my scrapbook, when I die.”   

Alexis sighed, trying not to sound sad and walked to the kitchen counter, pouring them two cups of coffee. “You speak as if you know her, maman.” He said, his back turned to her.

“I _don’t_?” Apolline arched an eyebrow.

Alexis didn’t reply.

“Listen.” Apolline left her seat and went to her son. He was staring at the kitchen tiles, his expression vacant. “I can talk to her, if you want.” she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“No!” Alexis faced his mother, his features pained and somewhat horrorstruck, “She’ll think I am using you, using you to get to her! She’ll misunderstand me and leave us, with Adrian. I can’t let that happen.” He shook his head, “It’s my problem, maman. Please let me handle it.”

“What if it becomes too late?” Apolline asked, feeling there was more to what her son was letting out. Hermione and Alexis! They were both so secretive about their feelings!

Alexis exhaled deeply, as if making up his mind. “It’s late already.” He said, gulping once, “I think she has chosen someone as her partner.”

“Jean?” Apolline gasped, her eyes round, “How do you know?”

“When she said she was taking him with them, to Brussels.” Alexis looked up at the ceiling, pained and bitter.

“Who?” Apolline blinked, confused. What was her son talking about? She has never felt that Hermione was in a serious relationship. She has always been such a dedicated mother and wouldn’t marry someone without her son’s approval.

Alexis sighed heavily. “Eva’s brother.” He said with a sad smile, “Edmound Bellamy. He’s the one Jean has chosen. And he’s perfect, I think. They are friends, he knows about her and most importantly, Adrian loves him. As Jean’s mother, maman, would you object to this union?”

Apolline stood still long after her son left the kitchen, not caring to drink the coffee. She had been meaning to paste all the newspaper cuttings on Adrian to her scrapbook. Now suddenly, everything felt pointless, meaningless. The dream of her happy family was broken.

It felt as if a storm was about to come and take her precious Adrian away, far away, where she wouldn’t reach him.     

•••••

Hermione hadn’t been this white for a very long time; the reflection on the windowpane showed her as almost bloodless. They were all standing outside the hospital cabin where Edmound was being treated by mediwizards. Her friend had nearly drowned in the same pool he was teaching her son to swim. Eva and Gabrielle were weeping silently and Adrian was watching the ladies with sad awe.

How Edmound almost drowned was still a mystery. Hermione was in the changing room, helping Adrian into dry clothes when she heard a scream. It was Eva and she was screeching like an owl. Panicked, she came out and saw her friend swimming to her brother who was floating in the pool like a dead leaf. Gabrielle had followed Eva, with Hermione taking care of Adrian while her heart beat in her throat. The two ladies rescued the unconscious man, brought him up and a mediwizard resuscitated him. The Palace Hotel authority immediately closed the pool and sent Edmound to the nearest Wizarding Hospital. They apologized profusely; Monsieur Leopold was almost on the verge of tears. The man who looked happy this morning while delivering Adrian his ten thousand galleons now looked utterly terrified. What would become of his hotel’s reputation? No one has ever drowned in their pool! Not even kids.

Waiting outside the cabin, Hermione suddenly felt like her nightmare about the green snake and Jacob Jordeans has come true. Like that dream, it was sunny and they were enjoying themselves by the pool. Hermione wasn’t in a mood to swim but watching her little rabbit play, for a moment, she had forgotten the unpleasant feelings. Then like it had been in her dream, the atmosphere changed; Edmound almost drowned and they were now in the hospital, anxiously waiting outside the cabin. The happy morning seemed a lifetime ago.

The cabin door opened and a man in a white coat came out. Eva and Gabrielle rushed to him. Hermione stood like a statue.

“He’s okay.” The Healer assured them solemnly, holding up his hands in the air, “We have checked his vitals and he’s fine.”

“How did it happen Healer?” Eva asked anxiously. Who would believe the same woman was maliciously happy that Gabrielle was going to make her animal-lover brother straight the same morning?

“We found no external signs of injury on his body.” The Healer, a middle aged man with kind features, replied. “He said that he was swimming when he felt a tentacle around his ankle. I don’t think the Palace Hotel farms squids or octopuses in their pool.” He shook his head, looking amused, “So it could be a cramp. It’s summer season and he was in the water for quite a long time. Maybe he developed Electrolyte Imbalance. It’s a condition when the equilibrium of out body’s essential ions like sodium, potassium is lost.”

“Merci, Healer.” Eva nodded and the doctor left. “Tentacle?” She gave Hermione and Gabrielle a puzzled look, “Tentacle in the swimming pool?”

Hermione was suddenly reminded of the dream she had. In it, tentacles had sprouted from forest ground and trapped her. Was it just a co-incidence?

“Uncle told me about a giant squid.” Adrian finally spoke up, breaking Hermione’s musings. The kid was sensible enough to remain silent when his companions were worried to death. “He said it’s called Hafgufa. It has long tentacles.” He spread his arms wide, showing them how long the tentacles were, “And it eats mermaids.”

“Hafgufa? Tentacles? Mermaid?” With every word Eva was raging like an angry bull, breathing fire, “So that’s what keeps playing in his head? Hafgufa and mermaid!” She nodded frantically, “I knew this was going to happen! I knew it! His obsession for animals is going to have him killed one day! Today he had a cramp, nearly died and thought it was a squid! Tomorrow he’ll have a heart attack and will say that it was a…” she faltered, trying to find an appropriate candidate “…soul eating Boggart or something! Enough is enough! I am not having…” she stopped when the mediwizards came out from the cabin, looking alarmed.

“Eva! Cool down!” Hermione tried to calm her angry friend, though inside she agreed with her. She knew that Edmound was obsessed when it came to collecting rare animals and would spend days and nights after it if opportunity provided. “We can talk about this.”

“Eva!” Gabrielle placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled kindly, “I know what you feel. When I eight, I was used in a Triwizard task. Fleur was supposed to rescue me. But she failed and thought I had drowned. You should have seen her! She was ready to jump into that deep lake, without any aids and save me at all costs. So, you see, I understand you, dear.” she said kindly and Eva, leaving her anger, burst into tears. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

“Yes, Eva.” Hermione took sides with Gabrielle. The quarter-Veela indeed has grown up into a fine and sensible lady. “We’ll take care of Edmound. Now, let’s go inside.” She placed her hand on the doorknob but didn’t turn it, “Please don’t scream at him.”

Tearful and red eyed, Eva nodded and when Hermione opened the cabin door, she rushed in. Gabrielle and Adrian followed her and when Hermione went in, thirty seconds later, she saw Eva crying like a child, hugging her brother tightly, her head on his broad chest.

“Eva…” Edmound was on hospital gowns and his voice was hoarse. Hermione’s heart filled with a strange sense of fear when he saw her smoothing his sister’s hair. “I am okay.” He assured her and tried to sit up.

But his words, however sincere, had no effect on her. Eva only cried harder.

“You…fool…” she cried and pounded feebly on his chest, “…you…could have…” she couldn’t finish and broke into fresh tears.

“Uncle!” Adrian climbed on the hospital bed and hugged Edmound, “What happened? Was it the Hafgufa?”

“Hafgufa?” Edmound looked puzzled.

“That big squid!” Adrian replied, “You always forget. You told me about it. Last night. Remember?” Beside him, to Hermione’s immense relief, Eva didn’t lash out on Edmound.

“Oh, yeah.” Edmound gave a bemused smile, “I always forget.” He admitted and kissed on Eva’s and Adrian’s foreheads. “Eva! Dear sister! Please don’t cry! It’s nothing. I am alright.” He tried to assure her but in vain. Eva just wouldn’t stop crying.

The scene went on for another fifteen minutes and then the nurse came in, asking everyone to leave the patient alone.

“We hope to discharge Monsieur Bellamy tomorrow.” She informed them, “The Healers want to keep him tonight, check his electrolyte status and correct it. Now he needs rest.”

Hermione nodded silently and after biding Edmound goodbye left the cabin, feeling skeptic. First that dream and now this near-drowning incident? Was it just an accident? Or was if an omen? Or part of a greater evil, an evil that looked like Jacob Jordeans?

•••••

It was almost ten o’ clock and Audré was in her suite at the Palace Hotel. Her fingers were interlocked and her small chin resting on it; her eyes were fixed to the letter on the table. It was from Narcissa. She has replied to Audré’s letter rather promptly.

Someone knocked and entered her suite but Audré didn’t look up. She knew it was Draco.

“Good evening, aunt.” Surely came his drawl and he took his usual seat across her. Audré didn’t respond. She didn’t even look up at him.

“Um…” Draco seemed to sense his aunt’s cold attitude, “…um…er…” he cleared his throat, “What’s that?” He reached for the letter. He tried to sound casual, as if nothing has happened.

“Don’t!” Audré’s voice whipped in the air, “It’s _my_ letter.”

“So…rry!” Draco’s fingers were inches from the envelope when he withdrew it, as if he has received an electric shock. “Um…” he looked around and back to her, “Letter from mother?” he said after a while, recognizing the writing on the envelope.

Audré didn’t reply. As a gifted witch and manipulator, she knew how to slowly build a climax.

“You didn’t tell…mother…about… _that_?” Draco, it seemed was thinking just as Audré wanted him to think, “It was just a prank, aunt. I was not going to kill that Edmound. Seriously!”

“Why? What’s wrong if you killed him?” Audré asked airily, not looking up from her pensive gaze, “I would completely understand if you do so, Draco. After all, you were a Death Eater; you are a Death Eater’s son. Killing should be your second nature.”

“Aunt, I am _not_ a murderer.” Audré’s jibe hit home because Draco became serious immediately, “And I am _not_ a Death Eater. I was given the Dark Mark when I was underage. I had no choice. I never tortured anyone on purpose.”

“Until this morning.” Audré finally looked up and smirked, “Until you made that man almost drown.”

“He was playing father to my son!” Draco’s grey eyes flashed but before Audré’s blue pairs, they lowered themselves, “Okay! Fine! I shouldn’t have done that! But I was angry! I just can’t take it when someone touches my things!”

“Things?” Audré repeated, her smirk still prevailing. The climax was slowly building up. “Adrian is a ‘thing’ for you? Your _only living son_ is a ‘thing’?”

“No!” Draco regretted his choice of words, “He is not a thing. He’s my son, my only living son and I love him.”

“I wonder what will happen when _your only living son_ comes to know that his _dear father_ once tried to kill his uncle Edmound.” Audré crossed her legs. She was a lawyer’s daughter and a lawyer herself. Luring someone into a self-made trap was like playing chess to her. She enjoyed it.

Draco paled and bit his lips. “You are not going to tell him that, aunt. I trust you.” He said, looking visibly disturbed.

So Draco was starting to start trust his forsaken aunt? Interesting! “Then don’t make me do something that’ll break your trust, Draco.” Audré said firmly, “Don’t forget, dear nephew, this is not England. This is Belgium. You can’t exercise your Malfoy influences here. You can’t go around, playing deadly pranks on someone just because he was being friendly to your son. No. You’ll land in prison and be charged with of attempt of murder.” 

“Fine! Fine!” Draco held up his hands in surrender, “I’ll take care next time.”

“Draco.” Audré leaned forward, “I told you that day before the competition and I am telling you again. You can’t buy a child no matter how much you spend. You have to earn them, earn their trust and love. Killing Adrian’s mother’s friend surely isn’t going to earn you his respect.”

Her words had the desired effect on him because the man became thoughtful. “Respect?” He repeated after a while, “I had never had that choice.” He snorted, “I had to _respect_ my father regardless of what I felt about him.”

“I thought you loved him.” Audré supplied casually, pleasantly amazed that the conversation was turning out to be quite fruitful.

“I did, I still do. He’s my father.” Draco replied and sighed, “But I never liked him much. He was always…” he paused, “…so full of himself that it was hard to please him. Only mother could control him, with her love, dedication and tenderness. When the Dark Lord asked for father’s wand, he wouldn’t give it to him. But mother acted promptly and took his hand. Father surrendered his wand without another word.” 

“Narcissa is a great woman.” Audré commented honestly, “It’s not an easy job to be Lucius Malfoy’s wife, I know it.”

“Mother,” Draco smiled, “always understood me more than father ever did. She loves me, truly. But father? For him, I was just a son who should be a topper in everything: studies, Quidditch and bring glory to the name of Malfoys. I tried my best. I gave it my all. But sometimes, I just couldn’t and he, father, wouldn’t tolerate it. He stopped caning me when I grew up. But he’d shake me by my scruffs.” He rubbed his neck absentmindedly, “I hate being treated like a cat. I hate cats.” He said bitterly.

Audré sighed. If her husband’s account was true, it was nothing abnormal for Lucius Malfoy to bully his son. The boy never had a cordial relationship with his father, just as Julian had with his. He had no siblings and was brought up conditioned to believe his parents beliefs on pureblood supremacy. Now he was a lonely widower to whom Adrian meant the world. But that couldn’t be his ground to behave rashly.

“As a sufferer yourself, nephew, you must realize that it’s not an easy job to be a _good father_.” She said gently. Draco, she understood, was completely under her control now, hanging onto her every word, just as she had wanted. “I am not saying that your father didn’t love you or was a _bad father_. But if you want to be a _better_ father than he was, Draco, then you need to listen to your child. Listen to what he says, what he feels and learn from him. He might be a kid but he is a human. He sees, feels, and understands. Learn from him, nephew, learn from him.”

Draco nodded, smiling. Somewhere in that smile, Audré saw a little Adrian that got lost in the labyrinths of the mighty Malfoys.

She wondered whether Jean had brought up her son away from the Malfoys for the same reason: to not have him become another Draco.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


    

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  


    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15: The Wind from Morrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this writing.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the comments, bookmarks, kudos and votes. Please let them keep coming.

 

** Chapter 15: The Wind from Morrow. **

**W** as it fate or just a co-incidence that certain events kept repeating themselves over the course of time?  Or was it part of a bigger plan, beginning of an ominous end?

Hermione met her future friends - Harry and Ron, on her first ever train journey to Hogwarts. She met Eva and Edmound on her first ever train journey to Beauxbatons. Her parents or those whom she regarded as her parents, Grangers and Delacours, were wonderful people. Her son, Adrian, like her cat Crookshanks was, was very protective of her. They were also unwanted: no one would buy the cat and no woman, after such a brutal incident, would keep the baby born from it.

Until today, Hermione was happy that these histories have repeated themselves. But now she wondered.

She had to let go of her Hogwarts friends, Harry and Ron. Would she be forced to let go of her Beauxbatons friends, Eva and Edmound, too? She had to send her parents to Australia in order to protect them. Would she be sending the Delacours to a distant land to save them? Hermione’s cat was her favourite and yet Crookshanks was taken away from her by a subtle conspiracy of time. It didn’t require telling one how much Hermione loved Adrian. Would time take him away too?

Following Edmound’s near-drowning incident in the Palace Hotel’s swimming pool, Hermione and their group of four including little Adrian, was very quiet during the supper. No one felt like going to the Dining Hall for dinner and Monsieur Leopold, after apologizing what it seemed like the thousandth time, had their supper sent to Hermione’s suite.

Eva has long stopped crying but her eyes were red. This friend of Hermione was a very strong minded person; now she looked shaken. Gabrielle was grave and lost in thoughts. She was the one laughed most in the entire group. Hermione was trying her best to eat. The Gryffindor normally gave others strength and hope at peril and would discourage them to skip meals. Now food kept sticking in her throat, her mouth full of bitter taste from unpleasant thoughts. Adrian was watching the silent ladies, his grey eyes round and pink lips pouted. Even for a kid his age, he has sensed the grave aura around him and was playing with his food.

“Adrian, finish your steak please.” Hermione said wearily. This horrible silence was pressing down on her from all sides.

“Mama? Was it really a Hafgufa?” Adrian, instead of finishing his steak, pounded it roughly with his fork, as if it was the convicted tentacle of the legendary giant squid that had made his dear uncle almost drown.

“Adrian, there is no such thing as _Hafgufa_.” Eva replied firmly before Hermione could; her steak was untouched and turning cold. “The Healer said that it was a leg cramp. It’s all his imagination.” She said, looking away.

“But Uncle Edmound never lies!” Adrian protested, holding up his fork like a spear, “He told me! Hafgufa lives in the North and it eats mermaids.”

“Jean?” Eva addressed the boy’s mother this time, her features dead serious, “Do you want your son to be brought up with such ridiculous ideas that Hafgufas exist and they eat mermaids?”

“Of course not, Eva.” Hermione replied calmly. There was no point in being so silent and spoiling their supper. She needed to pull herself together. “But it’s a legend and like most legends it is prone to distortion of actual truth.” She said reasonably, more to herself than to her friend. She needed to believe that Edmound’s incident was just an accident and nothing more. Her friends would live, she would live with the Delacours and Adrian was going to be with his Mama, always.

“Most squids,” She next turned to Adrian, “are very friendly, little rabbit. They don’t make humans drown. At Hogwarts we had a giant squid in the lake. It was the same lake where merpeople used to live.” She recounted and Adrian listened, his mouth half-open, “I have never heard of the squid eating the merpeople. In fact, one day a student named Dennis Creevey fell in the lake and the squid saved him. Threw him back on the boat he was in.”

“Really?” Adrian’s innocent grey eyes were as big and round as a squid’s. “The squid saved him?”

“Yeah.” Hermione nodded with a smile and Eva snorted. “So you see, maybe the Hafgufa was a good squid. Maybe he never hurt a mermaid. But it’s a legend and legends are not facts.” She explained, “What happened to uncle Edmound today was a medical condition called cramp. There was no Hafgufa in the pool.” She assured the innocent boy, “And even if there was one, I am pretty sure it’d never attack your dear uncle Edmound. We know how he can tame even the wildest of beasts.”

“Jean is right.” Gabrielle spoke for the first time since returning from the hospital. “I don’t think animals, not matter how dangerous they are, would attack Edmound. He loves them.”

“Yeah, he loves them a little too much.” Eva sighed wearily. “Jean, would you mind if I stay here tonight? I am not feeling like sleeping alone in that big suite of mine.”

“Why not?” Hermione, too, wasn’t feeling like parting with her companions. What if something happened to Eva? Strangely Katie Bell’s name came in her mind and a shiver went down her spine. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the horrible thought. “I’ll have the Hotel authorities install another bed in Gabrielle’s bedroom.”

“She needs time to recover from the shock.” Gabrielle commented wisely, once the supper was over and Eva went to her suite to change into nightclothes. “I still remember Fleur. After that incident during the tournament, for a week, she wouldn’t let me out of her sight.” She reminisced. “Wouldn’t even allow me in a bathtub alone.”

“What happened at the tournament?” Adrian asked, smelling a nice story in the air. Hermione’s little story about the good squid seemed to have made him hungry for more information on it. But his mother intervened. After last night’s incident, especially with the story of the Evil Witch, the boy couldn’t be trusted with such true tales. Besides, the day’s memory was still fresh on his tender mind, not to mention that they have had a discussion about the legendary squid, Hafgufa.

Hermione, not intending to have another nightmare and scare her poor son, took one mouthful of Dreamless Sleep before climbing into bed with Adrian who was clad in his favourite red pajamas.  The Hotel authorities have added another bed in Gabrielle’s bedroom, Eva was there and sound of their low chatting was drifting into her bedroom, acting like a nice background music. Normally, she reads to him storybooks. The boy, she has noticed, loved stories, especially of animals. But tonight she decided to solve some logic puzzles with him, to have his mind focused elsewhere.

“What’s this?” Adrian piped, his curl adorned head resting on Hermione’s bosom, when she showed him a new book.

“Read the title.” She offered instead. This was what she did in such cases, let her son read the title and develop his English reading skills.

“The…Puzzled book… of puzzles!” Adrian declared with a flourish and looked up at his mother, his eyes bright, “I love puzzles! Gina and I solve puzzles. I am good! She can never beat me!” He said happily.

 “Really Mama’s love?” Hermione kissed on Adrian’s little forehead. This little fact that her son has gone after his mother when it came to solving puzzles was unknown to her until this sweet and tender moment. “Let’s see if you can beat Mama this time.” She challenged sportingly.

“I don’t want to beat you.” Adrian protested, looking slightly shocked at the idea, “You are my Mama!” He reminded Hermione of the unknown fact.

“Really? Ohhhh!” Hermione felt a great rush of affection for her son and hugged him, “Okay, let’s solve the puzzles together then.”

“Okay.” Adrian squealed and tilted his head. This was his signature style of agreeing with someone or something. Hermione read out the first quiz. It was almost like the one she had solved in her First Year.

_A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z_

_What’s the 6 th letter on the left of the 14th letter from the right of this series?_

“Fourteenth letter?” Adrian started counting the English alphabets on his fingers, “A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N.” He paused, “N!” he said and started counted backwards to the sixth, “M, L, K, J, I, H.” he stopped and looked up at his mother, “It’s an ‘H’!” he declared.

“No.” Hermione smiled kindly. She has already solved it in her head and knew the correct answer. “You didn’t take the right side the series, little rabbit.”

“I did.” Adrian protested, visibly annoyed that he couldn’t solve the puzzle on the first run, “I took the right side. A, B, C, D, is the right side.”

“No, my love.” Hermione perceived her son’s annoyance. She too used to get annoyed when she couldn’t do a job correctly on the first turn. “The _right_ side of the series is the one on your _right_ hand side. Look!” She showed him the series with more care, “A, B, C, D…is on your left hand side and Z, Y, X, W…is on your right hand side. So now count the fourteenth letter from your right _hand_ side and see where you get to.”

“Okay.” Adrian accepted the explanation and counted the alphabets from backwards. “M!” he declared and proceeded to count to its left, without further instruction from Hermione, “S!” he proclaimed happily after twenty seconds.

“Excellent!” Hermione clapped, proud of him, “I knew you would do it, little rabbit.”

“How do you know?” Her son asked, sounding half-impressed and half-awed.

“Like Mama like son.” Hermione replied affectionately, “I was in my First Year at Hogwarts when I solved a pretty hard logic puzzle. Our Potions professor had set it. Since wizards do magic, little rabbit, they tend to forget that there are more things on earth. Logic is one of those.”

“What is logic, Mama?” Hermione knew that question would inevitably follow. “And what was the puzzle the teacher gave you?”

There it goes again. If Hermione told Adrian about the Philosopher’s Stone, he’d surely have a dream on it. Speaking of it, she remembered Devil’s Snare, the odd way Jacob Jordeans was offering her his hand and the horrible dream about him trying to take Adrian away.

“Let’s solve some more puzzles.” She smiled brightly and offered. She was on Dreamless Sleep and wouldn’t allow herself to have another nightmare on that painter. Adrian nodded.

They continued solving puzzles until the clock chimed eleven. Adrian was really good at them; he solved a few difficult ones that even Hermione was finding hard. But the little boy was more comfortable with riddles, she noticed, something that she lacked. Riddles were distorted, metaphorical truths and Hermione, was good with straight, solid facts. It was with promise to get back to solving more quizzes and a considerably light heart that she turned off the lights and hugged her son, preparing to sleep.

“Mama?” Adrian piped, snuggling against her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why not?” Hermione asked the semi-dark form. She was thinking about Adrian’s mental skills that were rare for a kid his age. Drawing, riddle solving – were they from the other person who had contributed in his conception?

“Mama, do you miss your mama and papa?” Adrian’s tone was very tender and honest and she jerked back to reality. His innocent question hung in the air like a giant balloon, waiting to be punctured and cleared off their way.

“I do.” It was Hermione’s heavy sigh that told her how greatly she missed them, deep down. “They are my parents, little rabbit.”

“Why don’t we go to them?” Adrian’s next question was the most logical sequel to the previous one.

“In Australia?” Hermione knew there was no other place to meet her parents; she had modified their memories so. “I told you. It’s very far from here.”

“But we can go.” Adrian supplied reasonably, “If they can go there, we can go too.”

“Yeah we can,” Hermione admitted, “…but Mama doesn’t have time to go to Australia.” She was calm and patient outside, while inside her heart broke. “You know the goblins. Mama works for them. She can’t leave her work and go for a long vacation in Australia.”

“Goblins are bad!” Adrian said, sounding sullen. “They make my Mama work a lot.”

“No. Mama’s love.” Hermione smiled, trying to hide her tears that were threatening to pour out any moment. She missed her parents and her son missed her, when she worked late in her office. In a way, they were both similar. “Mama’s boss, Geccemp, is a very good goblin. He gave Mama two weeks leave, didn’t he? But it’s not professional to leave your work and go for a long vacation just because your boss is good.” She explained kindly, “Now let’s go to sleep, little rabbit.”

“Okay.” Adrian yawned and became silent. For a long minute there was no sound except for their breathings. The little boy’s breath was scented with peppermint of his toothpaste. It brought to Hermione the memories of her dentist parents.  

“Mama?” Adrian piped again.

“Yes, Mama’s love?” Hermione said; she was thinking about her mother; her green eyes, her curls, her kind smile.

“I made a poem for you.” The boy declared.

“ _Poem_?” Hermione’s eyebrows were automatically elevated. “For Mama?” She was wondering what more wonder that little boy could hold?

“Yeah!” Adrian squealed, his tone cheerful, “I made it this morning, after I drank almond milk.” He seemed to consider that particular drink as some kind of Wit Sharpening Potion, “But I forgot to tell you.”

“Really? Let’s hear it then.” Hermione offered, realizing that Edmound’s incident has affected the kid more than he displayed. Adrian cleared his throat importantly and started.

_Mama! Mama! Mama!_

_I love my Mama!_

_I have red pajama!_

_And I looooove my Mama!_

For the first time since Edmound’s accident, Hermione burst into laughter. It felt wonderfully good and warm, like eating chocolate after a Dementor encounter, its taste filling her up from inside and chasing away her perilous thoughts and worries. Her son did know how to cheer his mother up.

Adrian’s laughter had followed his mother’s and it continued for a while; they laughed under her sleeping robes just like a bird would protect its babies under her wing and sing. Then Hermione kissed Adrian goodnight and closed her eyes. She wished the sleep would be a dreamless one.

The boy soon fell asleep, but Hermione, even under the spell of Dreamless Sleep, couldn’t. Figments of the previous night’s dream played before her eyes, intermingled with the image of a half-dead Edmound, floating in the pool. Faces of her parents, family members and friends came flying by. Intense guilt gripped and paralyzed her heart. How very cruel and heartless had she been on them! Would she ever be able to forgive herself?

But it was all for a greater good, for an innocent life that needed her, Hermione tried to reason herself. With all the hard decisions and sacrifices she had to make alone, she has never resented keeping Adrian. The boy was the best thing that happened to her from the worst thing that could ever happen to a woman. It was not his fault that his father was a rapist.

In a corner of her mind, she didn’t know why, it almost felt like the day Ron was nearly killed from the poisoned mead. The mead on question was actually intended for professor Dumbledore. But when it fell into Slughorn’s hands, it found its way to innocent victims. The man behind it was never apprehended. Like his most grievous crime against Hermione and her son, he got off.

Hermione felt as if that history has repeated itself this morning; that Edmound wasn’t the real target but a mere showdown before the actual game began. Why she felt it, she didn’t know. The Healers have already explained the scientific reason behind his near drowning. Then why was she brooding over such superstitions?

Then there was this mystery of her addressing Jacob Jordeans as Draco Malfoy in her dreams. Hermione knew it was impossible, that the two men could never be the same. She has left Malfoy in France. In fact, why was she even considering that Jacob was Malfoy? Because of that one key word ‘tentacle’ that was present both in her dream and Edmound’s version of the accident?

At half past midnight, Hermione, discarding all her efforts to sleep, left the bed. She adjusted Adrian’s limbs on a side pillow, covered him with a thin sheet and went out in the balcony, to have her head cooled.

The night sky was starry and wonderfully beautiful, the summer air crisp but pleasantly cool. They caressed her skin like the lips of Ron on her lips and she wondered where the red-headed man was now. Was he married? Did he have children? The Weasleys were famous for their large families, something Ron’s Auntie Muriel never missed an opportunity to mention. Hermione was in regular correspondence with Bill. Had she wanted, she could have asked him about Ron. But somehow, it never happened and Bill, too, sensing her discomfort, never talked about his brother.

Memories of their beautiful school days replayed in her mind: finding secret passageways, taking meals in the Great Hall, rushing between classes, worrying about homework and exams, making banners for Quidditch matches and supporting Gryffindor, setting Snape’s robes on fire, solving his Potion puzzle, basking by the lake while Fred and George annoyed the giant squid, having classes at the greenhouse with magical plants: Venomous Tentacula, Devil’s Snare, Snurgaluff pods. Life was wonderfully simple and goals, so clear: defeat Voldemort. After that Hermione was planning to make her career in Magical Law Enforcement, fight for the elves’ rights, marry Ron and have her own little happy family.

What she now? Where did she live? Who were her family and who was her son’s father?

Like that storm out of blue, one storm has struck and turned her life upside down. Hermione suppressed a sigh. Life was not meant to be like story books portrayed, one would never get everything they wanted. Regardless of the storm and its aftermath, she had Adrian, he was a wonderful kid, he made poems for her and she could live like this for the rest of her remaining life, happily.

That being settled, Hermione’s thoughts moved to a completely different topic. She had read somewhere that women never commenced a kiss; it was so against their persona and dignity. It was a man’s job to lure, to tempt the lady into kissing him; and yet it had been she to start hers with Ron. For him and him only, she had broken that one golden rule.

Hermione might be a bookworm but she was a woman. First kiss was something very special for them, a memory to be cherished and smiled upon, forever. There would be a little touch of awkwardness, a little spice of forbidden romance, a little garnishing of shy smile – all of which made the concept so enticing and the experience, so thrilling. In fact that was what Hermione had been dreaming her first kiss to be: tender and sweet.

While girls of her dormitory, Lavender, Hannah, even Ginny who was a year younger than she, had had their first and giggled about it in the girl’s bathroom, their ears red, and Harry had his in the Room of Requirements with Cho, Hermione had been keeping hers for the man she truly loved and not just dated.

Who became her first kiss then? Was it Ron?

Hermione closed her eyes, hot tears finally leaking down her cheeks. She was finally blissfully alone, no one would stop her from crying, no one would to pry and worry. Like everything that was precious and priceless to her – her home, her parents, her friends, and her maidenhood - that kiss of hers was also robbed away. Her first kiss had been Draco Malfoy, who almost tore her lips away in an attempt to punish the Mudblood for touching his pureblood mother.

Hermione touched her lips. In the darkness of night, under its mighty mysterious realm that sheltered many unheard cries, unseen horrors and unspoken sighs, she still felt that forced kiss of Draco Malfoy on her lips. Could it be called a kiss? A kiss was a divine feeling, a sacred way to express someone’s love and affection. Malfoy hadn’t kissed her that way. He had chewed her lower lip, as if it was a piece of filthy rubber. Gagged, Hermione hadn’t been able to make a single sound; only tears rolled down her cheeks, like it did now.

A soft hand touched her shoulder. It didn’t press, it didn’t squeeze hard, it didn’t turn her to face the person; but Hermione knew it was Eva. Then, without even thinking what she was doing or why her friend was still awake, she turned around and embraced her, breaking into frank tears.

They stood on the balcony, under the starry sky and a moon that has witnessed human sorrows and tales of their lives since time immortal. Hermione cried, reliving her worst nightmares. She cried for her parents; she cried for her friends; she cried for her son who knew nothing of the terrible truth; she cried for the one man she loved. Eva didn’t protest, for once. She just rested Hermione’s head on her right shoulder and patted gently on the back, just as Edmound had done.

“Jean, it’s okay, dear! Edmound is fine.” Eva consoled her, though her own voice shook slightly.

“I don’t know, Eva.” Hermione sniffed, trying hard to pull herself together, “But I feel I am responsible for what happened today.”

“Why should you think so?” Eva asked gently, “You didn’t push him into the water. Or it is because he was giving swimming lessons to Adrian?”

“No.” Hermione replied weakly. That possibility hasn’t occurred to her. Should she tell Eva about that dream? “I had a very bad dream. There was a storm and…tentacles came up…rooting me to the ground…preventing me from running…”

“So you think that _this_ tentacle and _that_ tentacle are related? Symbolic?” Eva didn’t sound remotely annoyed by her friend’s senseless words.

“I don’t know.” Hermione confessed truthfully, “But I am having this…horrible feeling that something…something bad will happen and Edmound…” she sighed. “Maybe, I shouldn’t have asked you two to come with me.”

“Are you blaming yourself for that?” Eva sounded slightly appalled. “Nostradamus! It’s not your fault, Jean. What happened was an accident. Okay? Didn’t you hear what the Healer told us? It was a leg cramp. Edmound was dehydrated. Even you explained it to Adrian.”

“Yeah, I did but…” Hermione admitted, not feeling like releasing Eva from the hug. It felt so good, like embracing Harry was: safe and supportive.

“You are one of the most logical persons I have met, Jean.” Eva said, her semi-darkened features honest. “The way you explained Hafgufa was a really nice one. Even I felt like visiting Hogwarts only to see that friendly squid.”

“We’ll go there, one day.” Hermione said, wiping away her tears and clearing her throat. Yes, she would go to Hogwarts one day, even if she turned old, her bones became brittle, her hair turned white and she had a big hump on her back, she would definitely go to Hogwarts one day. She would walk through the corridors, sit in the Great Hall, visit her old dormitory and the most important place of all – the library.

“Adrian asked me to take him to Australia.” She told her friend and sighed. “He wants to meet his real grandparents.”

“Do you know where they live?” Eva asked her.

“No.” Hermione replied truthfully, “Why?”

“Edmound and I could go and see how they are living there.” Eva suggested, “We could bring you their photos.”

“Thank you, Eva, but,” Hermione didn’t know how to thank her friend for her thoughtfulness, “I don’t want to spoil my memory of them. Wherever they are, in my heart I know they are fine.  And that’s enough for me.”

“Okay. As you wish.” Eva said casually. “But I think Edmound might like to visit Australia one day, you know, to look for fire-breathing kangaroos or fanged-koalas.”

Hermione laughed. This was what made Eva so close to her heart. She could talk so simply, like Luna did. Should she tell her about Jacob Jordeans? But it would inevitably lead to the topic of Draco Malfoy and how she almost ran into him at Gringotts. If she knew Eva, which she did, the woman would simply ask her to curse one of the items of the Malfoy Vault so that he either died or was left to live, paralyzed.

“When I saw Edmound in the pool, for a moment, l felt like I was watching Ron when he got poisoned.” Hermione decided to address the issue differently and told Eva the incident that happened in her sixth year, “I had warned Harry about Romilda. But when Ron kept calling me in his poisoned state, I thought…I shouldn’t have left him…after all, he was my friend.”  

“I understand, Jean.” Eva finally allowed Hermione to release her and they stood facing each other. “You thought you left a _friend_ because you couldn’t get the _man_ you loved. It’s a very rational feeling. But you know, Jean that good friends are not always good lovers and even less so, good husbands. Nothing destroys a good friendship than misjudged love.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “A lot of people took Harry and me as a couple. Even Ron did, once.” She remembered the incident in the tent; true that Ron was under the influence of a Horcrux locket but it has always pained Hermione that her best friend could even consider such a possibility.

“Even I made the same mistake.” Someone said and startled, Hermione looked at the direction of the sound. Gabrielle was leaning against the balcony door and watching them, her arms crossed over her bosom. When she came to stand there, and how much of their conversation she has heard, Hermione didn’t know.

“I took you and him as a couple.” She said, slowly walking to them, “But in Fleur’s wedding, I noticed that you mostly danced with her brother-in-law.” 

”I thought you were asleep.” Eva suggested cautiously. Hermione wondered if she disliked a third person’s presence in their private conversation.

“Non!” Gabrielle dismissed it with a wave of her hand, “Couldn’t sleep. Then I heard someone crying in the balcony. So I came to see if it was Jean, crying alone.”

“So, when did it happen?” Hermione decided to bypass that topic. The only positive outcome of Edmound’s near drowning had been Gabrielle’s preoccupation in his thoughts. She has forgotten all about writing to Apolline that she had a bad dream and woke up in her bed.

“You mean ‘us’?” Gabrielle took the innocent bait and smiled shyly. “Last Easter. Edmound had a rare Macao to deliver me a letter and a present.” She looked down, “It was really awkward. I mean…I have always seen him as your friend.”

“So?” Hermione sensed a subtle hint in that sentence, “Just because he is my friend doesn’t mean he can’t ask you out. Is he too old for you?”

“No, it’s not that!” Gabrielle cried softly, “Bill is seven years older than Fleur and they are happily married. Age is not the factor here, Jean. I thought…I thought…that you two…were…dating.”

“Dating?” Hermione cried, flabbergasted. “Merlin, Gabrielle! What made you think so? Edmound is my friend! Adrian calls him uncle! I _never_ saw him _that_ way.”

“Yeah, but…you know…you two are…quite close.” Gabrielle was choosing her words very carefully now. “You are friends…he understands you…Adrian loves him…so I thought maybe…” she trailed away, “Please, Jean! Don’t misunderstand me!”

“Just because I am frank with my friend and Adrian loves him, doesn’t mean we are lovers.” Hermione looked around helplessly, not knowing how to explain it to Gabrielle. Why do people take good friends as lovers and spoiled the relationship, she couldn’t comprehend. Does every relationship have to have romance in it?

“Look Gabrielle,” She decided to clear the cloud of confusion once and for all, “Edmound is like a child, innocent and carefree. Like Adrian is. And I love him for it, because he is different. With him around I don’t have to worry that he is a member of the opposite sex; that I am a woman and he is a man. Even Harry and I were like that; we lived in the same tent for almost a year and I never felt like I was living with a man. But with Ron, I never felt that way. From the moment I realized my true feelings for him, I…” Hermione stopped, not knowing how to express it all.

“I know, Jean.” Gabrielle was being patient now, “But it took me some time to figure that out. Frankly, I have hardly seen a boy and a girl to be _just friends_. The ones I saw ended up married and having kids.”

“But Edmound for me, is just a friend, Gabrielle, just a friend.” Hermione said firmly. She hated being misunderstood by those close to her. It felt like Ron. But at the same time, she knew it wasn’t Gabrielle’s fault. It was a trend to consider two members of the opposite sex as lovers and not as friends; as if only their physical differences mattered and not their mental similarities. “I am sorry if I over reacted, but there is nothing between us; there never was; there never will be.” She turned to her friend to clarify the point, “Eva, did _you_ ever feel like I was dating your brother?”

“No, and I wouldn’t mind if you did.” Eva shrugged, “But my maman would, you know her, Jean. She is pretty backdated.”

“Does _mother_ think that I am dating Edmound?” the topic of Eva’s mother brought forth the question. Hermione bit her lip, wondering if the Delacours were taking Edmound and her as a couple. This was so embarrassing!

“I don’t think so.” Gabrielle replied thoughtfully, visibly relieved that the awkward topic was over, “Actually she…” she paused and grimaced as if accidently let slip something.

“ _Actually she_?” Hermione prompted. What was Gabrielle hiding from her?

“Leave it, Jean!” Gabrielle was regretting her slip of tongue. Her eyes kept fleeting at any direction but Hermione’s. But the Gryffindor wouldn’t let the matter die so easily.

“No, Gabrielle.” Hermione said firmly. “I have the right to know. Your maman is my _mother_ too.”

“It’s nothing!” Gabrielle cried desperately, trying her best to repair the damage. “Nostradamus! Why did I ever say that?” She threw her hands in the air and cried, looking mortified.

“Gabrielle!” Hermione took the young lady’s hands in hers and made her to face her. “Please.” She bade solemnly.

A flicker of apprehension lit up in Gabrielle’s blue eyes, as if she was being asked to walk on thin ice. “Maman just…” she licked her lips nervously, “…wants you…” she screwed her face “…to…”

“To?” Hermione squeezed Gabrielle’s hands gently, “ _To what_?” Her heart was suddenly beating in her mouth. An unknown feeling gripped her senses and chilled her spine. Did Apolline secretly wish that Hermione left their home? Was she tired of having to look over Adrian while Hermione was at work?

“To be her…” Gabrielle closed her eyes in horror, “Bru!” she declared in French.

Bru! The word hung in the air like thin layer of mist over Avalon, obscuring all tangible and intangible thoughts. Bru? Apolline’s bru? Gustave’s bru? The Delacour’s daughter-in-law?

Her grip slackened, Hermione left Gabrielle’s hands.

Images of Bill and Fleur’s wedding played before her eyes. The tent. The aisle. Fleur walking to Bill with her father. Her simple white dress flowing by her side. Her tiara. She was glowing. Was that how Hermione had dreamt her wedding to be? A tent? The aisle with flowers? She was walking up it with her father, Thomas Granger. She was in a simple white dress. Ron was standing and waiting for her. His red hairs were messy. Harry was his best man. His black hair was even messier. Ginny was her bridesmaid. Her mother, Adeline and her mother-in-law, Mrs. Weasley, happy from the union, were weeping in their handkerchiefs. She came and stood by Ron. The red-head took her hands. They took vows. He kissed her and led her to the dance floor. They danced as man and wife.

It was night. She and Ron were lying on their bed, on petals of roses. They were under a thin white sheet for she was feeling really shy to be naked. Thousands of candles were floating around them. They started extinguishing once Ron’s lips caressed hers; then his hands were playing over her body, like a pianist’s on the keys. He was going down…down to the core of her femininity…

Then the face Hermione was looking up at suddenly changed. It wasn’t Ron anymore. It was Draco Malfoy. She was on a cold dungeon floor. She was alone and he was tearing her from inside.

Hermione jerked violently, like a cat would when doused with cold water.

“Jean…Jean…” like a badly tuned radio Gabrielle’s squeaks reached her brain, being carried from a distant. Malfoy’s face vanished and the young lady’s came into view. She looked downright terrified.

“Jean!” Gabrielle looked at Eva for help, who wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and gently guided her to the nearest seat. She sat there like an ice statue; spine erect and looking straight ahead, at a dream that like many others, was shattered.

“Look I am sorry! Okay? I am really really sorry!” Gabrielle sat on the ground before Hermione and mummbled, “I knew you will feel bad.”

“No, Gabrielle.” Hermione said, her eyes glassy and staring vacantly in the air, “You don’t know how I feel.” Even she didn’t know what she felt or if she felt anything at all, “I pray that you don’t have to. Ever.”

“It’s not _that_.” Gabrielle looked positively scandalized, “I mean…I was shocked when Edmound sent me that letter. Like you I never expected him to…”

Shocked? Letter? Edmound? Hermione didn’t argue. In fact she had nothing to argue. She knew Gabrielle meant no offence. She was being honest, as honest a seventeen year old, newly in love and with dreams of a happy life and bright future before her, could. But Gabrielle didn’t know the cruel realities, the tortures that could break and damage one’s soul so much that she feared sleeping alone, or letting someone in her life.

“Jean, it’s not your fault. Okay?” Eva spoke at last, her tone calm and measured. As always she could understand Hermione very well, without even having her to utter a word. “What happened in England can happen to anyone, anywhere in the world, including me and Gabrielle. But it doesn’t mean that it’s end of our lives. I know it’s a very traumatic. But there are thousands of survivors out there who are leading a happy and respected life, with someone who truly loves them. I have Dominique and Gabrielle has Edmound. They’d help us to heal if it were us.”

“Heal?” Hermione took up the one word that she had left behind long ago. Hot tears came down her already wet cheek, thoughts that were never spoken came up like bubbles. They blocked her throat and blurred her vision. What was healing, she knew not of. Her best medicine was her son, Adrian. “Alexis?” She rasped after a while.

“Is my brother too ugly?” Gabrielle asked timidly, trying to lighten up the grave mood. “Fleur’s friends still die on him. Mine swoon.”

“It’s not that, Gabrielle.” Hermione rubbed her forehead. Her head was spinning. “Alexis is a good man. He deserves someone good.”

“Oh really? Please define _good_.” Gabrielle bade firmly. She seemed to immensely dislike Hermione’s choice of the word.

“You know what I mean, Gabrielle.” Hermione sighed wearily, “I am not the right person to be your brother’s wife.”

“Who said that?” Gabrielle demanded, “Maman loves you, papa loves you.” she counted on her fingers, “Bill and fleur love you. Victoire loves you. I love you. Even Alexis…” she paused. “…if you don’t believe me, ask maman. She knows everything.”

“Did he tell you that?” Hermione tried to rearrange her thoughts. It was all getting mixed up. First Edmound, then Apolline and now Alexis!

“You know my brother, Jean.” Gabrielle replied matter-of-factly, “He never speaks his mind. It is in his eyes.”

“Eyes?” Hermione was perplexed and looked at Eva. What the hell was wrong with Alexis’s eyes?

“I am surprised that you never noticed it, Jean!” Her friend nodded solemnly, “I saw it every time he looked at you. It was there.”

Hermione tried to remember Alexis’s eyes. They were black, like Snape’s was, except for the latter’s were expressionless and the former’s: ever-pensive. She couldn’t recall seeing any particular emotion for her in them.

“Gabrielle, I am really sorry,” She held up her hands, “but I don’t want to talk about this.” She needed to go, take another mouthful of Dreamless Sleep and sleep at all costs.

“Jean, don’t do this.” Gabrielle pledged and prevented her from leaving the seat.

“Don’t what?” Hermione was extremely confused now. It seemed everyone knew something about her that she didn’t know.

“Don’t punish yourself for someone else’s crime.” Eva replied evenly. “I know why you never noticed what we _all_ did.”

“No, you don’t!” Hermione protested. Were they playing with her, match-making for her or manipulating her into a relationship that was non-existent?

“I do.” Eva said, her eyes steadily fixed on Hermione’s brown pair. “I am your friend, Jean. I know you. The reason you never saw it in Alexis’s eyes is because you don’t feel comfortable with man as your lover. You can be wonderfully open to your friends, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, or to my brother. But whenever it’s someone who might see you differently, you shrink. You think they want you…physically. Am I right?”

Hermione didn’t reply. Even she couldn’t have put it so well. It was such a feeling of shameful helpless; she was a Gryffindor and she was frightened, downright terrified to be touched that way.

“Jean,” Gabrielle leaned forward, deciding to utilize Hermione’s silent contemplation on her favour, “do you think my brother is like that? You saw him since before Adrian was born. Is he like that?”

“I…” Hermione stammered, not knowing how to reply that question. Indeed, Alexis has never given her an impression that he treated woman as sex toys. In fact, he was reserve with them, a feature that, though, did go well with his position in the Ministry, didn’t go accordingly with his image as a quarter-Veela.

“I have nothing to give him…” She said at last, defeated, “…or anyone.”

“You think all men are after virgins who could be good bed partners?” Gabrielle asked Hermione, her chin defiantly lifted. In the moonlight, with her silvery hair flowing down around her, she looked just like her mother, Apolline. “I hate it when women stand on the sideline and wait for men to approach them. We are not on sale, based on our physical structures and degree of attractiveness.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Hermione said wearily. This conversation was wringing out all her stamina and she felt emotionally empty. “What I meant is that I don’t love him, never saw him that way. In fact, he never told me that felt anything for me.”

“Alexis knows that you don’t love him, Jean.” Gabrielle said evenly, her tone calm once again, “He must have taken that if he approached you, you might take it the wrong way and leave our home with Adrian.”

Hermione couldn’t rule out the possibility. She loved the Delacours. They were like her family. But she wasn’t going to have her used to pay their debt.

“Listen, dear.” Gabrielle was completely her Veela mother now, her tone, personality and the authority with which she talked to Hermione, “Not every man on earth is bad; not all of them run after a woman’s body. I am a quarter Veela. Ask me how it feels like when they imagine you as a piece of meat in thin lingerie. But Alexis is not like that. If he loves you, which we all know he does, he loves you for what you _are_ and _not_ for what you can _give_ him.” her tone was gentle, assuring, like balm on an open wound. “If he never told you this it’s because he is afraid to you lose you as a family member. Nothing destroys a friendship and a family relation like a misjudged love.” She quoted Eva’s earlier statement.

Hermione didn’t argue, nor did she agree. A clock in the Hotel chimed thrice and Eva yawned loudly.  

“Go to bed, Jean.” She patted on Hermione’s shoulder and left with Gabrielle. Whether it was a strategic move to have her to reflect on the matter wasn’t clear to her.

Hermione looked up at the sky. From last night’s dream to the events of this morning and now this revelation, it had all been an emotional rollercoaster. She had been frightened, relieved, frightened again, sad, confused and now skeptic.

Was Gabrielle right? Was she indirectly punishing herself for what Malfoy did to her or her distrustful attitude towards most men? Could it be true that Alexis loved her, respected her? Could she finally be able to be live behind her past and have a normal life?

•••••

Draco waited for the lights of Hermione’s bedroom to go out and then left his sanctuary, the balcony. He had been watching Adrian and the ladies from there, as they took supper, talked about something called Hafgufa, and retired for the night. His little son looked very sorry for his dear uncle; he couldn’t even eat his steak properly. Somehow it made Draco angry at himself. He was the reason that little boy was suffering, his precious son was sad. He was such a failure of a father!

He remembered what Audré had told him during their little chat just an hour ago.

_‘As a sufferer yourself, nephew, you must realize that it’s not an easy job to be a good father. I am not saying that your father didn’t love you or was a bad father. But if you want to be a better father than he was, Draco, then you need to listen to your child. Listen to what he says, what he feels and learn from him. He might be a kid but he is a human. He sees, feels, and understands. Learn from him, nephew, learn from him.’_

Draco wondered how much of his son he actually understood. What he did to Edmound was a prank and a moment’s impulse. Yes, it was deadly prank but he hadn’t meant to kill him. Ever. Actually he couldn’t kill anybody even if tried to, with all his heart. That much he was sure of himself.

But it, too, was not in his nature to take it easily if someone tried to take away those who were dear to him, and that was exactly what Edmound was doing: playing a father to Adrian. How could Draco tell Adrian that he and not Edmound was his real father; that he was reason this broken man wanted to live again, that this world was worth living again just because of that boy, that he has defied his father, the mighty Lucius Malfoy, only for him and had bled continuously but never stopped while breaking those mirrors that trapped Adrian? How could he tell him that? How could he tell Adrian what was he to his father?    

Cautious and contemplative, Draco stood by the sleeping pair, his whole attention fixed on Adrian. The Mudblood had never tempted him to spare her a second look and he wasn’t at all interested in watching her sleep. In fact, it annoyed him greatly that the kid hasn’t been given his separate bed. Merlin! These Muggles and these Mudbloods! On one side, they could easily forget their kids, leave the country and to let them to die in a war, alone; on another side, they couldn’t sleep without their kids plastered to their bodies! If Draco was in charge of the situation, Adrian would have received his own full furnished apartment and a pack of elves, when he was two. To hell with these Mudbloods!

His eyes next fell on the book of puzzles and quizzes. Tonight a new side of Adrian has been revealed to him: the kid was good at solving puzzles, especially riddles, just as his father did. Draco was a Malfoy and they never went for nasty common things as puzzles. It was so Mugglish! The poor brainless things had no magic and therefore resorted to boring logic. The Mudblood could keep that trait of hers. Besides, solving riddles looked very impressive. Girls especially liked clever men and Draco was feeling proud that his son was going to be as clever like his father was, when he grew up.

He heard them talking in whispers. Then Adrian recited a strange poem and the Mudblood laughed. Draco stood at two feet’s distance, his heart bursting from jealousy for the woman and tenderness for his son alike but he couldn’t dare to go further. It would be a disaster if he got caught. He would land in the prison and by the time he somehow managed to come out the Mudblood would vanish from the face of earth with his precious son. She might even get married to Edmound and have his son brought up by a step father. A shiver went down Draco’s spine at the very thought. No, that could never be allowed to happen. Adrian was his and his only. No other man could ever be his father.

At quarter to midnight, Draco returned to his suite and after casting off the Disillusionment Charm threw away the broomstick. Like it should be for a Malfoy, his bed was made; he could slip into it and retire for the night. Tomorrow morning, he needed to find a way around this problem of spying on Adrian. His aunt was right. This was not England where he could get off using his influences.

Draco took off his robes and threw it carelessly over the chair. He took off his socks next and aimed one under the table and the other, on it. They landed neatly on their aimed targets and Draco leaned back, his body supported only on his elbows. It felt wonderfully good to have something to play as he liked, be the boss and take his anger out. He sat pondering over the little poem Adrian has made for his mother.

_Mama! Mama! Mama!_

_I love my Mama!_

_I have red pajama!_

_And I looooove my Mama!_

Even in his enraged state, Draco smiled. With each passing moment he realized how much that kid was like his father. Draco too was good at making little jingles. In fact one of his works went viral among the Slytherins until it was modified by those copycat Gryffindors. He could still remember the original lines very clearly.

_Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That's why Slytherins all sing:_

_Weasley is our King._

_Weasley was born in a bin_

_He always lets the Quaffle in_

_Weasley will make sure we win_

_Weasley is our King,_

_He always lets the Quaffle in_

_Weasley is our King._

With a considerably light mood, Draco climbed into the bed and lied down, one ankle crossed over the other and hands folded under his head. Staring at the painted ceiling, he wondered what that strange dream about the House of Mirrors meant. Adrian was standing beside him in all the reflections, but wasn’t actually present. Did it mean that his son was an illusion? Draco loved solved riddles. But this dream was giving him a hard time.

When he drifted into sleep, pondering over the mirror dream, Draco didn’t know. He had another dream tonight, a very strange one.

_Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire was just built after the Norman conquest of English lands. The thousand years old structure was only one and half hundred years younger than Hogwarts Castle and like the former, housed an enormous library. It was actually a small museum of Italian sculptures and paintings, Greek scriptures on their Gods and Goddesses and books on Dark Arts. The Malfoy tradition dictated that the valuable collections passed from father to son, from one generation to the next generation._

_Draco was Lucius Malfoy’s only son and a spoiled one. He was always curious to things that were forbidden, except perhaps for the Forbidden Forest. The Dark Arts books in that family library were out of limits to him and it was Lucius’s strict orders that his precious son was not to touch them. ‘Touch nothing, Draco!’ was his signature command, be it at the Borgin and Burkes or at the Manor. He didn’t know what those two simple words incurred._

_Draco knew he’d inherit it all one day: the Manor, the gardens, the Gringotts vaults and the library with all its Dark Arts books. He could examine them at leisure then; no one would stop him. But where was the thrill of touching something forbidden in that? It would be boring; he might even lose interest and throw the books away. So the best time to examine those books’ contents were when he still had that fire of curiosity burning in him. The time was now._

_It was the Christmas of his fifth year. He was going to receive a special present for being selected as the leader of the Inquisitorial Squad. Draco, confident that finally his father would be proud of his son, was at Manor for Christmas holidays. Narcissa was busy with the party arrangements; they would be having the creams of Wizarding society as their guests. Lucius was mostly out, keeping in touch with the Dark Lord and the Minister of Magic, that moron Fudge. Draco, as always was alone with no one to share his moments of glories in helping Umbridge to hunt down Potter and his sidekicks. There was no Crabbe or Goyle to kick some fat butts. It was so boring. And whenever bored, he sneaked into that forbidden library to find something that fitted his curiosity._

_That night Draco, after ensuring that his parents were securely in their master bedchamber, came out of his and tiptoed to the first floor, where the library was. On his way, he passed his grandfather Abraxas’s chamber. Sounds of some old songs reached his ears. The old man was listening to the radio. Draco passed his parents’ chamber next, and pressed his ears to the door. There was no sound. Maybe they were asleep. Relieved, Draco sprinted to the staircase and in five minutes was standing before the locked door of the library._

_The inside was semi-dark with outlines of marble statues and lamps. The men and women in the paintings were dozing and snoring. Draco ignored them and walked straight to the back of the library, where the Dark Arts books were. He had never felt this way for the Hogwarts library restricted section. That old crap Dumbledore, he knew, wouldn’t keep any real Dark Arts books in there, should they find their ways to innocent students. If one wanted to find the real gems, it was in the Malfoy family library._

_Soon Draco found something that interested him. It was a book on human transfiguration. The cover had some very gruesome images and feeling rather nauseated but curious, he opened it and checked the table of contents. Maybe he could try them on Potter or that Mudblood. In ten minutes, he was sitting on the foot of the bookshelves, engrossed in the book._

_The book provided him with wealth of information on some very dark spells: like turning humans into objects. He has seen McGonagall turn a mouse into a goblet. She has never shown them how to turn a human into a piece of dry bone. Wondering if it would be a nice change to turn Potter into a thighbone and give him to Fang, Hagrid’s boarhound, he was about to turn to the next page when the library door creaked open._

_Draco froze. He has narrowly escaped a punishment the previous day, when he tried to turn one of Lucius’s precious white peacocks into a white ferret. Now, if his father caught him red handed, reading books from the forbidden section, his Christmas was done for. His present would be taken from him and he’d shake him by his scruffs, something that Draco immensely disliked. He closed the book and slipped it into its place, preparing for a flight._

_‘Mistress Cissy!’ a high pitched voice exclaimed and Draco, his whole body’s balance on his toes now, closed his eyes. Who on earth had such a horrible voice?_

_‘Kreacher.’ Came Narcissa’s kind and elegant voice. ‘I knew you’d come whenever you could escape from that prison. I have never seen a more loyal elf!’_

_Kreacher? Loyal elf? Prison? Draco frowned and from behind the shadow of a sofa, tried to get a better view of the untimely visitors. He saw his mother, with an elf he couldn’t recognize. He has old and wheezing but looked happy to be in Narcissa’s presence._

_‘Master Sirius,’ the elf took the name in a deep venomous tone, ‘screamed at me and told me to go away. I thought to visit my Mistress Cissy.’_

_‘Very well thought, Kreacher, very well thought. You are always welcome here.’ Narcissa was treating the elf as if it was the Minister of Magic and offered him a seat beside her, ‘So how is everything at Grimmauld Place?’_

_‘Not going well.’ Kreacher grimaced and replied, ‘Mudbloods and Bloodtraitors treading on my poor mistresses house like it’s some barren land. If she only knew…’_

_‘Mudbloods and Bloodtraitors?’ Narcissa repeated after the elf, looking thoughtful, ‘Look Kreacher, I know my dear cousin must have ordered you to not breathe a word about what’s going on in the House of Blacks. I know it pains you see them treat that home like that. It’s my family home too.’ she said sympathetically and leaned forward, ‘I can help you restore the place, bring the old glory back. That was my aunt Walburga’s dream, wasn’t it, Kreacher?’_

_Nice job, mother; Draco thought and patted his mother on the back mentally. So they were using the elf to get inside information about his uncle Sirius._

_‘Oh Mistress Cissy!’ Kreacher squeaked and started crying. He banged his head on the lamp, it toppled over and smashed but Narcissa didn’t even move a muscle to punish the elf for breaking a Malfoy family heirloom. Normally, Draco knew, his mother was less severe to the elves than his father was and was therefore barred from treating them directly. All her orders were carried out once Lucius finalized them, to ensure that the elves were always under pressure. Draco watched as Kreacher wailed about his poor mistress and finally, after fifteen minutes when he was calm, Narcissa offered him a nice cup of tea._

_‘Master Sirius was asking Kreacher for a two-way mirror this morning.’ Kreacher told Narcissa, sipping the tea, ‘It was the one he used to communicate with that filthy Potter’s father, James nasty Potter. Kreacher found it for him and master packed it. Maybe he is going to give it to someone.’_

_‘Really?’ Narcissa could be very charming and persuasive when she wanted to. It was her key to controlling Lucius, Draco knew. What followed in the conversation next he didn’t pay much heed. The concept of a two-way mirror has totally grabbed his attention. If he had one, he could use it for the Inquisitorial Squad._

Draco sat bold upright, his eyes wide open, as if he had never slept. He stared at the air, the question to his spying on Adrian finally answered.

•••••

The first shard of Monday morning brought to Hermione an unknown feeling. For the first time since starting to live to with the Delacours, she felt aware of her own presence, her own being, her own self.

Before this morning Hermione Jean Granger was Adrian’s mother, the first female Chief Curse Breaker in the history of Gringotts, Apolline and Gustave’s third daughter, Eva and Edmound’s friend and Ron’s ex-girlfriend. But after the last night’s revelation, she felt the presence of another person, someone inside her who has left neglected to suffer alone. It was like watching one’s naked reflection in a mirror and discovering a feature that one didn’t know existed.

Hermione stood before the bathroom mirror and gave herself a good look. It was something that she had never done and after that fateful day in the Malfoy Manor dungeons, didn’t feel like doing, ever. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but somewhere deep inside her battered soul she blamed herself for not being able to protect herself. It was so strange, for her body and her soul didn’t feel one, as if there was a thin and invisible barrier of assault keeping them apart: her soul was clean and her body, dirty. Her eyes roved down her form. Her bosoms were a bit pendulous, since she was a mother and had breastfed her son; the rest of her body was curvier than her young form was, with some fats around the thighs. Her abdomen was flat but there were stretch marks upon it. She looked at her body for something that could appeal someone like Alexis and failed to find one.

_‘_ _Not every man on earth is bad; not all of them run after a woman’s body. I am a quarter Veela. Ask me how it feels like when they imagine you as a piece of meat in thin lingerie. But Alexis is not like that. If he loves you, which we all know he does, he loves you for what you are and not for what you can give him.’_

Gabrielle’s last words before leaving reverberated in her head and Hermione frowned, fixing her eyes on her nipples. Faint bite marks were still visible around the dark pink areola, a small reminder of her encounter with Malfoy.

_‘If he loves you, which we all know he does, he loves you for what you are and not for what you can give him.’_

_‘…he loves you for what you are and not for what you can give him.’_

Could that be true? Could there be a man who would love her for what she was? She was an assaulted woman, her body bore scars, her soul bore scars, her entire existence was nothing but a poisoned apple tree. Could someone love her, love _her_ and not her body? Could someone look beyond the hard exterior she put on every day and see the decayed skeleton inside? Could someone help her heal it? Heal Hermione, Hermione the woman?

“Mama, we are getting late!” Adrian rapped the bathroom door and cried. “Uncle Edmound is waiting for us!”

“Ye…ah!” Hermione stammered, “Mama will be out in a bit.” She said and leaving the close examination went to get dressed.

Since the day of her assault, Hermione didn’t feel like showing her body, though she never showed much before, to anyone. Before, she could wear sleeveless dresses whenever she was attending a party, but now: no, absolutely not. Now her dresses were very modest, with full sleeves and of a length that touched her ankles and most importantly loose-fitting to hide her curves. She also avoided vibrant colours. Whether it was unconsciously done or a part of blaming herself, Hermione didn’t know, but she just didn’t feel like putting on something very fashionable and cheeky.

She slipped into a light blue long dress and combed her hair in haste. With nothing but a lip balm as her only cosmetic, she came out and saw Adrian standing by the bed, reading a pamphlet.

“…Scents… colours…lights…” he was reading aloud for the whole suite to listen, “…and sounds…”

“What’s it Mama’s love?” Hermione walked to her son, curious to learn he was reading with such earnest interest when moments ago he was getting impatient to go to his uncle Edmound. Her friend would be discharged today and they would be going to the hospital, St. Waltrude, the Belgian equivalent of St. Mungos, to bring him home.

“Monsieur Leopold sent it.” Adrian replied, handing her the pamphlet. It had colourful photos of large carpets and one look at it, she understood what it was all about.

Every other summer, on the weekend of August 15th, a gigantic carpet was made using begonias across the Grand Place, in a festival called ‘Flower Carpet Festival’, Hermione had read in the hotel travel guide book. Since it was a one of a kind festival, hundreds of witches and wizards from European countries came to Brussels to witness the carpet. Beauty did speak a divine language that could break all barriers.

“It’s an invitation for the Flower Carpet Festival.” She told her son about the carpet, “How nice of Monsieur Leopold to send us one.”

“Mama, are we going?’ Adrian asked, his innocent grey eyes lighting up at the words of flower and lights. Hermione knew her son loved flowers and more importantly, drawing them.

“Of course, we will.” She replied at once and checked the pamphlet for date. “Today is 9th August. The carpet will be opened for wizards and witches on the night of 12th. So we have plenty of time. In fact we could go out in the Grand Place and see how Muggles make the carpet.”

“Yay!” Adrian cried and hugged Hermione. “Muggles are very clever, Mama. Look how they make a big carpet without magic.”

“I am glad my little rabbit understood that.” She ruffled his curls, messing them and smiled, “Most grown up wizards don’t.”

Breakfast being over, they started for the hospital with Eva and Gabrielle, who to Hermione’s immense relief, didn’t show any signs of having had a serious discussion the previous night. Eva was cheerful again and Gabrielle, ever elegant silent. When they arrived at the hospital, the Healers of St. Waltrude discharged Edmound with some advice. They assured Hermione that he was fine now, though he would have to avoid being outdoors in sun for long time. They also told her to give him fruits as a diet to replenish the lost electrolytes and prevent further attacks.

“I have given you a list of fruits that are safe to give him.” the middle aged Healer with kind features told Hermione. He was the one who had talked to them about Edmound’s condition. “Be careful not to overdose him with potassium. It can cause cardiac arrest.” He warned.

“I’ll be careful, doctor.” Hermione assured him using the Muggle term. “…er…sorry, Healer.” She corrected immediately.

“It’s alright.” the Healer shook his head, smiling kindly. “I assume that you a Muggleborn witch.”

“Yes, I am.” Hermione tried not to sound rude. She has had very unpleasant experiences with that one word.

“And that handsome little boy is your son?” the Healer asked, his eyes on Adrian who was chatting with his dear uncle, maybe about the flower carpet.

“Yes, he is.”  Hermione replied, wondering where the conversation was going.

“Saw him in the newspaper.” The Healer finally answered her unasked question, “It’s a rare talent. You and his father must be very proud.” He said brightly.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Y..es..” she gritted her teeth and replied.

“Where is he, by the way?” the Healer asked, looking politely interested, “Don’t mind me asking it, please.”

“No…” Hermione recovered the shock fast, “…it’s alright…” she tried to smile but grimaced instead, “…he’s in England.”

“He must be a very busy man. Even my wife and children complain that I am not with them when something special happens.” The Healer shook his head sadly, “Last month my daughter participated in a writing competition and won a trip to Eiffel Tower. She is only six and writes very nice poems.” He smiled, looking very proud, “But they had to go without me because I couldn’t manage a leave.”

“I understand.” Hermione nodded and smiled. Internally, she was relieved that the Healer wasn’t at all concerned about the blood status of Adrian’s father or her marital status.

“But I’ll say,” The Healer was about to leave and said, “that he a very fortunate man to have such a beautiful wife and a talented son. Good day and take care.” He left with a kind smile.

Hermione stood there, rooted to the spot, watching the Healer’s retreating form. Did he just say that she was a beautiful woman? An image of her scarred body came into view, the one she had examined in the bathroom mirror. Though the scars were well covered underneath her modest dress, Hermione wasn’t wearing any make-ups to be considered as beautiful. Besides, she was with Gabrielle. Beside her beauty, she was nothing. Then why would the Healer say that she was beautiful? Was it just a polite complement?

_‘If he loves you, which we all know he does, he loves you for what you are and not for what you can give him.’_

Gabrielle’s words kept playing inside Hermione’s head. Was it true then? That she was beautiful? Beautiful in a way that common men couldn’t see? Alexis had a Veela grandmother, a half-Veela mother and two quarter-Veela sisters. If he was running after beauty at all, he could have married one of his Veela cousins. That would have been a very convenient match for both parties. Then why would he choose her over them and Apolline, too, would support it?

“Jean?” Edmound’s call brought her back to reality and shaking her head, Hermione turned to face her friend. He looked better, his usual colours back and less pale. “Adrian tells me about a squid you had in Hogwarts lake.” he said brightly, forgetting that his sister was watching him closely. “Is it true that he saved a student?”

“Yes.” Hermione shook her head in disbelief. Love for animals, perhaps, was burned in Edmound’s genes. No matter what happened, how much he was rebuked, how many times he drowned, he wouldn’t be able to leave them, truly. “It saved a boy named Dennis Creevey. He was crossing the lake in a boat and fell in suddenly.”

“I told uncle what you told me.” Adrian piped. “He says he wants to go to Hogwarts and meet the squid.” He hugged Edmound, “Mama? When are we going to Hogwarts?”

Hermione thought it was too much for her. Alexis, Edmound, the Healer and now Hogwarts! For a boy whose entire world was his mother, Adrian neither knew nor understood the complications the world around him held. She could return to her country any time she liked but doing so would endanger Adrian’s life, not to mention thousands of questions that would strangle them. But how was she going to explain it to him? How could she tell him that his own father would have him killed? That if he somehow survived, he would be ridiculed for a crime he never committed! How? It was enough that the child was growing up fatherless. Should she poison his mind with truth at such a tender stage of life?

“Jean told me last night that she’ll take us all to Hogwarts one day.” Eva replied to Adrian’s innocent query. She seemed to have understood Hermione’s false position. “We’ll meet the squid, take photos and if possible, shake hands…sorry shake _tentacles_ with it.” she said with a pointed glance at her friend.

A roar of laughter followed her statement and Hermione, feeling immensely grateful towards Eva, joined it. Even Edmound seemed relieved that his sister wasn’t mad at him and he changed into normal clothes, ready to leave the hospital.

“You three go to hotel.” Hermione checked the list the Healer had given her. Some of the items needed to be bought. “Adrian is taking Mama for a shopping.” She said, taking the little boy’s hand.

“Okay.” Adrian agreed immediately. Hermione knew he liked to be in charge of his precious mother sometimes. It made him feel like a grown up man. “But I don’t have any money!” he out-turned his pockets to show them.

“Who said you don’t have any money?” Gabrielle rounded her blue eyes in fake astonishment, “Who won those ten thousand galleons then?”

“I won.” Adrian piped simply. “But I gave it to Mama. She’ll keep it. When I grow up, we’ll spend it to help the orphans.”

“Oh, Mama’s love!” Hermione felt such a tender rush of admiration and love for her little son that it almost suffocated her. What would she have done without him? At five and half, Adrian was so thoughtful, considerate and innocent! Who would believe that he was a child of violence? That his other half contributed by a Malfoy, the most despicable species that ever walked on this planet?

They left the cabin, chatting happily. Edmound’s voice was still hoarse from near-drowning and Gabrielle told him not to talk much, which he complied most ardently. At the exit door, Hermione and Adrian parted with the rest of the group and started for the nearest Muggle superstore.

•••••

When Audré was born, her mother had said, that she had delayed to cry. Josée Laval Chombrun was the wife of celebrated lawyer René Chombrun and daughter to French Minister of Magic, Pierre Laval. Naturally her going into a labour meant calling the best Obstetric Healers and midwives to conduct it. Josée had screamed her throat raw while her husband and father waited outside the labour room, pacing in barely hidden anxiety for none of the men were very apt at showing their emotions.

After a ten hour long labour, Audré was born and when she didn’t cry, Josée was close to passing out. She was red on face, numb from pain and yet she stared unblinkingly at the little girl that was dangling by its feet from one of the Healer’s hands who was patting the newborn on the back. The father was allowed in immediately, to see the condition of his baby and René walked in looking downright terrified. The invincible man on court now looked like a timid hare, not knowing what to do. He stood by his wife’s bed, holding hands, and prayed that their firstborn lived.

Finally, after almost seven minutes of her arrival to this world, Audré cried and let the air into her lungs to inflate it. Everyone present at the labour room, from the venerable Healer to the lawyer and the Minister of Magic, started crying in a happiness that they didn’t know only tears could bring. The Head Obstetric Healer wrapped the baby in a towel and handed it over to her mother, Josée. René kissed tenderly on her daughter’s forehead and decided to name her, Audré which meant Noble Strength, something that the baby would desperately need if she wanted to survive in this cruel world.

Just a few monthes before Audré was born, René had bought Château de la Grange-Bléneau. Everyone close to him thought that a male heir was on board and therefore the purchase of such a magnificent castle has been done. But when the child turned out to be a girl, many wrinkled their noses and shook their heads in sympathy. Who was going to inherit the Château after René died? He had no sons.

Proving them wrong, René brought up a son in his only daughter. He loved his wife from heart and vowed to not make her go through more pains in childbirth. The couple didn’t take any more children, which roused a lot of criticism among the Chombrun kin who wanted to see a male heir. Some even advised René to take a mistress to produce a son. It resulted in René asking them to never visit the Château again.

It was almost fifty years since that incident now. Audré’s parents were no more. Her mother died when she was ten and her father almost a decade and a half after that. She never had any siblings and was brought up exclusively by her father and grandfather, to whom she was the apple of their eyes. She has inherited her mother’s looks except the blue eyes which were her father’s. But backbiters said that in was more than that, that she has inherited her father’s brain and his grandfather’s cool art of diplomacy; that her smiles meant something other than just pleasant state: it meant that something was playing inside that cunning head of hers. Among those who knew her, she was feared as a cool headed manipulator.

In men Audré valued only a few virtues. Being faithful to their partners was one of them. Her father was loyal to his mother. She has never seen a loving couple like them and therefore saw men who were loyal to their wives even under the immense pressure of having to produce a male heir, differently. That was how Draco, Lucius Malfoy’s son, made his first positive impression on Audré’s mind when he visited her home. In that man clad in black suite, shirt and trousers, with a pair sad grey eyes, Audré saw his father, René when his wife had died. She had taken care of that man. Surely she could take care of this man and bring some life into him. Also she was curious to see how much Lucius’s son has gone after him.

But that was before Draco met Adrian. After they met and when Draco said that he didn’t know how the little boy was born, anyone would have thought that he was lying, that he was trying to save his face from being labeled as a man who had regular mistresses. But Audré believed in what she saw more what everyone speculated. The horror and hurt that appeared on Draco’s eyes on the thoughts of being considered as a womanizer was enough to tell her what she wanted to know. He, in all honesty, didn’t know who the mother was and how the boy was conceived.

Curious to see what plan Draco had in his head, Audré decided to accompany him to Brussels. The man didn’t object of course. He was starting to trust her. They found Adrian and his mother, Jean Granger, whom Draco seemed to know from before and for some reason was very angry at.

This was where Audré’s thoughts came to a dead end. Draco knew Jean. He was curious to find out how or better say why she ended up in France with Adrian. Did that mean that he knew how the boy was conceived too? Was she was his girl friend before he married Astoria? Adrian was almost over five and a half now. If Audré counted backwards, that meant that the boy was conceived sometime in the first half of 1998. That year was the year of the Second Wizarding War. The Malfoys, Draco has already told her, were being imprisoned in their own home. Only he was allowed out, in order to attend Hogwarts. Did they do it while at school? Did he take out his helplessness and frustration on bed with a girl? Was that how Adrian was conceived?

But then there was the most interesting question of all, the one that Audré looked for the answer. Why Jean Granger chose to leave the country to have her baby? She could have pressurized Draco to marry her once she found out that she was pregnant. Could it be because she was afraid that her son would be another Draco Malfoy? Last night Audré had seen a little Adrian in Draco and wondered about it. But if Jean could sleep with Draco, what was wrong if their son became one? The boy was already a miniature Draco, wasn’t he?

Or was it something else? Audré had some very unpleasant suspicions. Was it Lucius’s doing? Has he impregnated Jean with Draco’s seed and sent her to France to safe keep the future heir of Malfoys from Lord Voldemort’s clutches, to ensure that the Malfoy line didn’t die should that maniac killed them all? Audré knew her brother-in-law and there was nothing impossible for a Malfoy when it came to saving their thousand years old pureblood line. Now the question was did he or did he not take the seed with Draco’s knowledge?

Audré rubbed her eyes wearily. How the night has passed pondering over these points, she never knew. Now the clock on the mantelpiece said that it was eight o’ clock of a sunny Monday morning. She stood up, stretched her arms and started for the bathroom. Today she was going to visit the local superstores and buy some chocolates for her daughter and kids of her neighbourhood. It would be an injustice if she stayed at Brussels and didn’t take for them the famous Belgian chocolate.

Audré had her breakfast at nine and Draco wasn’t present. He wasn’t in his suite, she has checked.  But she wasn’t bothered to the slightest. The man was under her total control. Draco wasn’t going to do anything without consulting his clever aunt first, Audré was confident. Somehow the knowledge gave her a cruel satisfaction. Lucius Malfoy’s only son depended on his infamous aunt; the man surely was turning in his grave.

At ten o’ clock, Audré left the Palace Hotel for a nice day out. It was never in the nature of a woman like her to sit around and wait for her nephew to take her out. She could stretch her own legs.

The Brussels Town Hall, a magnificent gothic structure, acted as the portal between magical and Muggle world in Brussels and today it was heavily guarded. Sturdy faced Aurors in deep blue uniform were patrolling the exit and entrance doors, carrying wands and batons. They were checking everyone in and out if they were properly dressed in Muggle clothes. Audré showed them her hotel keys. As soon as they saw that she was guest of the Palace Hotel, they let her out with a bow. Audré nodded elegantly and passing through the gates of Town Hall, came to stand on the famous Grand Place, the central square of Brussels.

Immediately the reason behind such tough patrolling dawned upon her. Grand Place was packed with Muggles today, tiding up the vast square for the upcoming Flower Carpet Festival. The pavements were more crowded than usual, with thousands of Muggle tourists thronging the streets of Brussels. The Aurors were ensuring that the magical community didn’t draw unnecessary attention to them by wearing full length robes on a bright summer day.

Her head full of thoughts and plans, Audré started walking for a Muggle superstore. She was around fifty now and jumping Chocolate Frogs or squeaking Ice Mice or earwax flavoured beans hardly tempted her. Those were for kids, not for women her age. Soon Audré found a Muggle superstore. It was just a few streets away from the Wizarding hospital, St. Waltrude. She knew Jean’s friend was taken there. Should she check if he was alright?

Audré discarded the idea immediately. It would only raise suspicions if she went to ask his health. Besides, her main targets were Jean and Adrian. She needed to know them first.

Audré walked into the superstore and found it crowded with French, German and Dutch tourists. They must have come to see the Flower Carpet which was in three days. Like Audré, most were looking for Belgian chocolates and the sales assistants were having a very hard time dealing with the sudden rush of customers. Growing up alongside Muggles, Audré was very comfortable in dealing with them. She confidently asked a shop assistant about the chocolate section. The young man’s eyes roved down Audré’s elegant form and attire and he smiled.

“Come with me, Madame.” He beckoned her, “I’ll take you to a less crowded section. We keep our best and most expensive chocolates there.” His smile broadened, “Away from the common customers.”

So he was taking her as a rich lady ready to spend galleons on chocolates? Interesting! Audré thought, feeling amused. But she followed the assistant nonetheless. Soon they came on a side of the superstore that was quieter. Audré looked up at the mountainous piles of best Belgian chocolates that stood on her either side, like the raised columns of water of Nile, threatening to break down on her any moment.

“Would you like me to help you, Madame?” The shop assistant asked politely. Audré thought that he was a good salesman because he has correctly read her confusion on seeing rows and rows of chocolate of different colours, sizes, and shapes. “We have pralines, truffles, eggs, animals.” He showed her the huge assortment of chocolates on her right. “And if you are looking for a special brand, we have that too.” He waved at the many coloured luxurious gift boxes on her left. “There is Neuheus. They supply chocolate to the Belgian royal court. We also have Guylian, Leonidas, and the Belgian. They are the best quality of chocolate in the world, favoured by kings, queens and statesmen.” He stated proudly.

Audré wanted to tell the salesman that she was not a queen and therefore would do with normal ones. But then she remembered that Lillian loved good quality chocolates. Wouldn’t she be very delighted to have a box of branded chocolates?  

“I think…” she started, deciding to take some Neuheus pralines. The shop assistant said that this company supplied chocolates to the Belgian royal court. “…I’ll take…” she couldn’t finish because a certain tender sweet voice reached her ears.

“Mama, I want some chocolate truffles!”

There was no mistaking to whom that voice belonged to. Adrian. Audré picked up a large box of pralines and in pretence of checking it, turned it slowly, bringing the bottom of the tin to face her. The shiny bright surface acted as a mirror and she saw on it, what she had expected. Adrian, in a bright yellow T-shirt and jeans, was standing beside his mother, Jean Granger who was examining two chocolate boxes intently. The boy was holding up another box and asking her to buy it for him.

“Merci, Monsieur.” Audré turned to the waiting shop assistant and smiled. She had a very good plan and wished to execute it, undisturbed. “I think I’ll take some time in choosing the chocolates. Meanwhile, you can attend to the other customers.”

“Very well, Madame.” The assistant bowed and left her by the mountains of chocolates. Like a good salesman he knew when to leave his eccentric and rich customers be and when to persuade them. Audré waited for him to fully leave. Then she hid herself behind a large heap of chocolate coated wafers and casted a very quick and effective Glamour Charm on herself. She came out a minute later, her blue eyes black and with some patch of grey on her dark hair, wearing a pair of spectacles. On her way, she picked up a box of chocolate wafers.

“Mama, look at these truffles!” Adrian cried for his mother’s attention when Audré came and stood by their pair.

“Wait, Adrian! Mama is lookin…” Jean Granger was in the middle of examining a box of pralines when she turned to her son and stopped abruptly, noticing Audré standing there solemnly.

“Excuse me, Madam.” Audré started in her most elegant tone that would instantly grab the listener’s attention. “I was here to buy some chocolates for kids but they have so many brands…” she trailed away deliberately and glanced at the staggering piles around them, conveying her undecided state, “It’s my first time in Belgium and I don’t have any relatives here. I was wondering what to do when I saw that you have a lovely little son.” She looked down at Adrian. The boy was gaping at her. “Can you please help me in choosing some good chocolates for kids?” she stated the entire matter in simple and appealing terms and with a very charming smile.

“I…” Jean blinked twice. Her chocolate brown eyes were no less enticing than the chocolate truffles her son asked her to buy. “…I am also new to this city.” She said with an apologetic smile.

“It’s okay.” Audré nodded solemnly, conveying to Jean that she understood her helplessness. “I’ll see what I can do. Good day.” She said and left the pair.

One step…two steps…three steps….four steps…

“Mama, we can help the old lady!” Came Adrian’s voice from behind her.

It was just as Audré had expected. Pressing someone to help a stranger would always make them suspicious of one’s real motive, especially when the person had a kid that attracted a lot attention. The town was full of tourists now and who knew which of them was a child trafficker. So Audré had feigned that it was alright and she would look for help elsewhere, making her out of Jean’s suspicion list.

Five steps…six steps…seven steps…eight steps… Audré returned to her previous spot, examining the box of wafers intently.

“Sssshhhh…” Jean hushed her son, checking if Audré had heard that, “It’s rude to call someone ‘old day’.”

“But she was an old lady!” Adrian protested innocently.

From her stand just a few feet from them the mother and son pair, Audré could hear them clearly. Her disguise had been perfect. Jean couldn’t recognize her. Now she waited for her to approach her on her own free will. She was sure Jean would.

“Maybe she is, Adrian but it is rude to call someone an old day. Okay?” Jean told her son, “Mama forbids you to call anyone an old lady.”

“Why?” Adrian asked. He seemed unable to comprehend that why such an innocent term could be regarded as rude.

“Because ladies don’t like to be called old. Okay?” Jean replied, sitting before him, “Imagine when your Mama becomes an old woman, with white hair and a large hump on the back. She’ll look like those old ladies in the story books. Will you like it if someone calls her ‘old woman’?”

“My Mama will never become old!” Adrian cried and hugged his precious mother protectively, as if hugging her would prevent her from aging, “You’ll always be brave and beautiful.”

Audré smiled. She liked the way Jean was explaining certain matters to her son rather than snapping at him or asking him to follow something blindly. It was something Draco, the boy’s father, never would and nor would his father before him.

“Really?” Jean pulled Adrian’s cheek and stood up, smiling. “Okay, let’s go and help the lady.”

Audré straightened her face immediately. Like most of her plans, this one has worked well and Jean and her son were coming to help her in choosing the chocolates. She left the wafers and picked up two boxes of Neuheus and Leonidas trying to appear very confused.

“Sorry Madame.” Came Jean’s voice and Audré turned to her with a puzzled expression.

“Pardon?” She said.

“My son tells me that he wants to help you to choose chocolates for your kids.” Jean said with a pleasant smile. “He loves to help others.” She said and ruffled the boy’s messy curls.

Audré, trying to appear very astonished but pleased, looked down at the little boy who was looking up at the pair of ladies, his grey eyes round. “Thank you very much, little gentleman.” She said with a special charming smile of hers. Adrian’s eyes lit up at once. He seemed to highly like the term he was addressed as: little gentleman.

“I’ll help you, Madame!” He piped happily. He rushed to the nearest stack of chocolate truffles, grabbed a box and showed it to her. “You can buy truffles. I like them a lot!”

“I’ll buy truffles.” Audré declared dismissively. She indeed was going to buy what her grandson liked.

“Okay!” Adrian squealed and started filling a shopping cart with them. His mother tried to restrain him, alarmed but Audré placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, assuring her that it was fine, that she could afford buying the expensive chocolates.

“It’s not every day that an old lady finds a charming little gentleman to help her.” She said with a smile.

Jean’s ears didn’t miss the innocent tease in that line. “I am sorry for that.” She said apologetically. “He’s just five and a half and doesn’t understand few things.”

Audré felt that the young mother herself was very well-mannered and polite. It was no doubt that she was trying to bring up her son accordingly. But at the same time, it struck her quite odd. Why would Lucius or Draco choose a woman who was completely their opposite? Wasn’t she supposed to be too full of herself or be very proud to mother a Malfoy heir?

“Oh, come on!” Audré waved aside Jean’s apology. She was here to observe and learn more about Jean and not judge her for mothering Adrian. “I didn’t mind at all. In fact I liked it. An honest complement is thousand times better than a fake praise.” She said simply, “So you are here for the Flower Carpet Festival?” She started conversationally.

“Oh no!” Jean replied. “I came here on a little tour. My son has been asking me for ages to take him abroad.”

“I see…” Audré commented, “He’s a…”

“Madame, do you like chocolate animals?” Adrian interrupted, showing Audré a box of animal shaped chocolates. His small form was almost obscured behind the pile of chocolates he has already heaped in the cart for her. It was such an endearing sight.

“I just love chocolate animals.” Audré replied solemnly and turned to Jean. She too was watching the boy diligently collect the chocolates. There was a tender expression on her face. Audré identified it as a mother’s musings on watching her child grow up.

“He’s a very nice boy.” Audré returned to her watching of Adrian and continued on her previous remark, “Would you mind if I ask you his name.”

“Of course not.” Jean shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the busy little boy. “Adrian. Adrian Thomas Granger.”

“Adrian?” Audré repeated after her, as if hearing it for the very first time. “It’s a very nice and uncommon name. And you are?”

“Her…” Jean paused and turned her head to Audré. Her earlier tender expression was now replaced by a cautious smile, “Jean Granger.” She replied.

Not for anything was Audré considered one of the cool masterminds of chess. She never missed how a piece moved across the board and this time, she didn’t miss the way Jean corrected her name. Name, address, country – these identities were a human’s spontaneous reply. If she remained cautious, she might collect information from Jean which would definitely come handy in the future. “Jean, this is Josée Laval.” Audré extended a hand to the young mother, which she took and shook, “You must have noticed that our names start with a J.” she said, smiling pleasantly and Jean nodded in agreement, her guards fallen, “So, where are you from, Jean?”

“England.” Jean replied, her eyes back on Adrian. The little boy was now busy weighing two boxes of chocolate. “He looks like a little leprechaun, collecting chocolate instead of gold.”

England? Audré frowned. Then Jean Granger must have finished her schooling at Hogwarts. Did she meet Draco there? “I am from France.” She said conversationally, eager to find out more.

“France?” Jean turned to her, astonishment etched on every line of her young and innocently beautiful face, “Where do you live in France?”

“Not in Paris.” Audré replied tactfully. “Most people think that French people live in Paris.”

“No, it’s not that.” Jean blinked rapidly twice, wondering what to say in response. Was she hesitating to tell Audré the truth? “Actually we, I mean me and my son, live in France. I am English but I work in France.”

“Really?” Audré would certainly receive an award in acting, so impeccable was her astonishment.

“Yeah and I live in _Paris_.” Jean’s smile returned and she added pointedly.

“I am French and I work in France.” Audré said casually, “It’s my first time abroad. Actually I think that it’s fate that we’ll meet here of all places.”

“Why?” Jean took the innocent bait that Audré was deliberately keeping for the end.

“My husband is an Englishman.” Audré stated with a flourish.

“Englishman?” Jean almost gasped.

“Yes.” Audré replied, pleased that her plan was going on well, “I am a lawyer by profession and he was a judge.” She said, trying to worm out more information on what Jean did in France.

“Was?” But the young mother noticed the use of a past tense.

Audré winced internally. Somehow her use of the past tense has ruined the punch line of the carefully constructed conversation. “Yes, _was_.” Audré nodded somberly, “He passed away almost ten years ago.”

“I am really sorry.” Jean said, looking sincerely sad.

“No, it’s fine.” Audré smiled and assured her, “By the way, you said you work in France? So is your husband a Frenchman?” Since the topic of her husband has come up, why shouldn’t she use it on her benefit?  

“My…” Jean’s face hardened. “I am a single mother.” She replied after five seconds, looking forced confident.

“Madame, do you like eggs?” Adrian cut in at that moment. He was showing Audré a box of chocolate Easter eggs.

“Put them in.” Audré nodded, motioning him to do as he pleased and turned to Jean. She looked lost in some thoughts. “I am sorry if my question offended you in anyway, Jean. It was unconsciously done.” She tried to lighten the situation.

“No! No!” Jean cried, looking highly embarrassed now. “It’s fine! He and I are…not together… anymore but I am very happy with my life.”

Not together anymore? So that meant that they were together once. Jean seemed like a very easy-going and friendly woman. Audré wondered how she ended up in bed with Draco, the ever moody and proud man. But one thing was clear to her. No matter what had happened between them Jean was happy with her life. She also noticed how she too, like Draco had done, didn’t mention the boy’s father’s given name and addressed her nephew as a plain ‘he’. Audré wondered if she was angry or bitter on her nephew or both.

“I can see that.” She commented brightly. “Adrian is a wonderful kid.” She turned her attention to the little boy. But he wasn’t there.

“Adrian?” Jean has also noted the sudden disappearance of the boy. “Adrian? Adrian?” She kept calling and walking forward, crossed the chocolate boxed filled cart. Audré followed her; somehow her own heart was thumping in her chest. They turned a corner and the little boy came into view. He was talking to a teenage girl who looked close to hitting him.

“Hey! You!” Jean pointed a warning finger and cried. Startled, the girl looked up and ran away. Audré couldn’t get a better look of the girl but noticed that she was on a green T-shirt, a pair of baggy jeans and a jacket. It struck her odd. Who’d wear a jacket on a sweaty summer day of August?

“Adrian? What happened? Why was that girl trying to hit you?” Jean ran to her son, who was sitting on the ground, grabbing a box of chocolate truffles to his heart. A shop assistant came running by, looking startled.

“She was trying to steal them!” Adrian cried, “I tried to stop her but she didn’t listen. Then she tried to hit me. I dodged it and fell on the floor.”

“Adrian, never pick a fight with boys or girls older than your age.” Jean said sternly as she helped her son on feet and dusted his clothes. The shop assistant was gawking at the little boy, watching the strange scene. “If it happens again, come to Mama or call someone who can help.” She showed him the shop assistant.

“But I didn’t try to hit her!” Adrian protested, his tone accusing and hurt, “She tried to hit me! I just tried to stop her!”

“Whatever!” Jean snapped and retrieved the box of truffles that was behind all the trouble. She returned it to the shop assistant who shook his head in disbelief and apologized.

“I am very sorry, madam.” He said sincerely, “We are actually having a nightmare today. Every year a lot of people visit the city this time of the year, to see the Flower Carpet and the rush increases. Not all of them are well brought up like your son. Some only come to take advantage of the crowd and to shop lift. We have CCTV and hire more stuffs but, somehow it always happens.” he looked down at Adrian and smiled, “This little man has helped us. I think I’ll ask the manager to give you a generous discount.”

“Oh no! There is no need for that!” Jean shook her head vigorously, though she looked pleased that her son stood up against the girl. “Adrian didn’t do it for the discounts.” She said, ruffling his curls.

“No, I didn’t do it for the discount.” The little boy quoted his mother. Audré, who was watching the entire interaction, felt a tender rush of love for the kid. Adrian was an amazing boy. No wonder Draco was mad for his son; anyone would be.

“Well, I think he deserves better than that.” Audré suggested. Looking around, she spotted a big box of chocolate truffles. It contained a hundred of those round chocolate balls. She picked it from the stand, sat before the boy and took his little hand in hers.

“Merci, my dear little gentleman.” She fixed her eyes on those that belonged to her nephew’s and for the first time realized why he was in trance while looking at Adrian’s eyes that day at the Tuileries. The little boy’s eyes were amazingly honest and innocent, as clear as water and as true as his soul. “It’s been very long since I last saw such honest courage. I am so sorry to have caused these little hands such pain.” She kissed the hands softly, “Please forgive this old lady.” She offered him the box of truffles.

“Old lady?” Adrian looked up at his mother, silently asking her if he should accept the gift.

“Madame…” Jean tried to restrain Audré from giving her son such an expensive gift. “…that’s certainly not necessary. He did it solely from the goodness of heart. Didn’t you, Adrian?”

“I did.” Adrian piped, though his innocent grey eyes were fixed on the box of truffles.

“Then that goodness of heart should be rewarded.” Audré looked up at Jean, smiling serenely. “There are things in this world that can’t be bought, my dear lady, no matter how much you pay. Honest help is one of them.” Audré placed the box on Adrian’s hands. “This is not a gift. This is my blessing for your son. I pray that he grows up to be a true gentleman.”

The look that appeared on Jean’s eyes told Audré that the words have touched her heart. No mother on earth would refuse to accept blessings for her child. She nodded, slightly tearful and with a last bow and goodbye, left with Adrian, who waved at Audré. She waved back, her heart strangely empty but heavy and watched as the shop assistant escorted them to the billing counter and ensured that Jean received a discount. They left with Adrian hopping happily by his mother’s side.

Casting off her Glamour Charm, Audré returned to her cart.  For the first time in ten years she felt a fire has been ignited in her soul: a fire of longing, a fire of hope, a fire of love. It was only her second meeting with the boy and she has fallen in love with her little grandson, Adrian.

Audré was a Chombrun and they never missed an opportunity to get back to their enemies. The salesman who had earlier taken Audré to the expensive chocolate section looked beside himself when he saw her cart. It was loaded with enough chocolates to serve half of Brussels. She waited patiently in the queue while he pushed the cart for her. It was then that she saw the teenager girl who had tried to hit Adrian. She was standing by the counter where her mother was paying the bills. Audré’s well practiced eyes immediately noticed a small lump in her trouser pockets that the girl was trying to hide under her baggy jacket.

So that was why she had put on that jacket? To hide her stolen goods. Audré smirked. That meant that the girl needed to be taught a little lesson.

When Audré was little girl, as little as Adrian, her mother loved to read her bedtime stories. She had her own separate suite but at night, Josée would come and slip under her comforter, take Audré’s little head on her bosom and read to her a new story every night. There were so many of them. Audré especially liked the Muggle stories with the touch of magic in it. The wizard of Oz, the magic lantern of Aladdin, Pinocchio and so on. Josée was a big lover of Muggle books. She thought it was interesting to learn about magic from their point of view. Audré loved listening to them. She would lose herself in those tales and visualize her as Dorothy or Aladdin. A thousand nights have passed since those golden days of her life. Audré was half a century old now and still missed those stories. Would there be a day when she’d read them to her grandchildren?

Adrian’s face swam into view, his round grey eyes, his tender and sweet voice, his innocence and his courage. With it came a unique idea.

Audré asked the shop assistant to take care of the bills while she examined some Belgian laces. The man, eager to have his goods sold to such a wealthy customer, was more than happy to comply. She smiled and withdrew in a corner, behind a rack filled with delicate laces. From her hideout she aimed her wand at the girl. What followed was a complete mayhem.

The teenager girl in green t-shirts was about to leave behind her mother, relieved that her thieving wasn’t caught when suddenly something started wriggling inside her jeans pockets, as if it was filled with fat and hungry worms.

“Holy shit!” she cried, panicked and without thinking what she was doing, took off her jeans before the entire crowd. A pair of white knickers came into view.

“What the fuck, Nancy!” the girl’s mother exclaimed, “What the fuck do you think you are doing taking off that jeans?” She took off the shirt she was wearing over her tank tops and wrapped it around her daughter’s loin.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck’?” Nancy retorted angrily, “Look there, you silly woman!” She pointed at the jeans. It was lying on the floor and something was wriggling inside its pockets, trying to come out. “Maggots! Maggots! This bloody shop sells maggots!”

“Maggots?” one of the shop assistants cried, “We don’t sell maggots! It must be something else.” He said and went to investigate the matter more fully. The entire shop was holding its breath when the security officials arrived at the scene. They prodded the pockets carefully, as if it contained explosives.

One by one the contents of the both pockets came out like caterpillars. There were several chocolate sticks, sweet cones, gummy bears, chocolate bars, liquorice sticks and different types of treats. They crawled on the shop’s cold tiled floor as if alive.

“Maggots? Right?” the shop’s manager was on the scene and lashed out like an angry bull. He seemed completely oblivious of the fact that the inanimate objects were moving across the floor.

“I didn’t steal them! I didn’t steal them!” Nancy squeaked, looking horrified. She seemed not to notice that no one has asked her how got those treats entered her pockets. “No! No! Someone must have slipped them into my pockets! Maybe it’s those bloody salesmen.” She looked around wildly. “They are trying to frame me! I didn’t steal them!”

But around her, the crowd only gaped, not paying heed to what she was screaming about. For they have never seen anything like this.

With every squeak that escaped Nancy’s lips, her nose grew half an inch. “I didn’t steal them! I didn’t steal them! Don’t take me to police!” She cried and ran to her mother with a six inches long nose protruding like a flag stick. Then she suddenly realized that her nose was dangling half a foot away from her face. Panic stricken she tried to cover her growing nose chanting the same mantra: that she hasn’t stolen those sweets that crawled on the floor. The nose continued to grow until it reached a foot’s length.

Enough, Audré thought and lifted the charm from her hideout. The sweets stopped wriggling and the nose shrunk back to normal length. Nancy fainted and her mother started crying. Aghast and helpless, the shop manager asked his employees to close it for the day and took Nancy and her mother to the nearest hospital.

Audré came out behind the rows of customers who were discussing what just happened inside. Some said it was a ghost’s work, some said it was a trick planned by the shop manager, some said it must be a curse, that the shop was haunted. She listened to them, her hands full of packages that were filled with the chocolate boxes Adrian had chosen for her.

Audré smiled and walked back to the Palace Hotel. What happened just a few minutes ago was nothing but an inspiration from a childhood story and a small tribute to Josée’s bedtime reading.

The idea had visited her when she remembered Pinocchio’s adventure. It was strange that none of the Muggles remembered it and she, being a pureblood, remembered it too well to ever forget.

Audré walked into the Town Hall. Life was suddenly beautiful, with Adrian in it.

•••••

By implications of his given name, Draco, if not twelve, there were at least half a dozen uses of his Malfoy-Black blood. Curiosity was one of them, which the Muggle playwright had fortunately missed to portray in his works. The second trait was being focused.

It was almost six o’ clock in the morning when Draco woke up. It was really strange how his focused mind had found a way around the problem using references of a dream with mirrors and an almost forgotten memory. He remembered seeing that elf, Kreacher several times, later, at the Malfoy Manor. Narcissa and Bellatrix were trying to extract inside information on the Dumbledore’s loyal followers and their activities. Draco was curious to learn what they were but Lucius would simply give him a stern stare, which meant he didn’t trust his son on these delicate matters.

Then one day after his father’s arrest in the Department of Mysteries, when the Daily Prophet was boldly claiming the Dark Lord’s return, his followers’ capture and Sirius Black’s death, Draco returned to manor.  Narcissa was concerned for her husband and impassive, almost unaffected on her cousin’s demise. In a manor that was silent and anxiously awaiting the Ministry’s next raid, the only person gleeful was Bellatrix.  She has finally got the Blacks rid of that nasty Sirius.

That day, for the first time in his life, Draco considered not joining the Dark Lord’s service. If being a Death Eater meant killing one’s brothers and sisters, then that job was best suited to the likes of Bellatrix. It was true that Draco’s service would bring him glory, his father would be forgiven and he had no cousins except his Aunt Andromeda’s daughter. But what if the Dark Lord one day asked him to dispose of his parents? What would he do then? Save himself or save his parents?

All these thoughts had engulfed Draco’s mind until the day he was called before the Dark Lord and given his Dark Mark.

Draco rubbed his eyes and left the bed. His aunt’s subtle accusations have somehow affected his mind and he was drifting into thoughts that were not concerned with his current mission: knowing more about his son, Adrian. With a decisive sigh, he left the bed and got ready for the day. He had a lot to do.

Finding a two-way mirror wasn’t going to be easy in a foreign country. If it were England, Draco would simply visit Borgin and Burkes and threat the proprietors to have a pair arranged for him or he would have a werewolf set on them. But as Audré rightfully had said: this was Belgium and he needed to be careful if didn’t want to land in a prison, Draco took a different route. 

At half past eight o’ clock Draco left his suite. Walking through the spacious corridors for the nearest Floo and elevator foyer, he noticed the room service trolley. They were on the day’s job of cleaning the suites and remembering his aunt’s cautious advice, Draco smirked. The Malfoys did know how to use pawns.

The shops of Laan Grote Markt haven’t even opened properly when a shop that sold mirrors received a strange customer. From hair to toe, the man was clad in all black; black hair, black eyes, black suit and polished black shoes where one could see one’s face. He asked the shopkeeper for hand mirrors. His was drawling and his accent was English.

“We have all kinds of mirrors, Monsieur…” the shopkeeper led the black-clad customer to the back of his spacious shop, where he kept the valuable items.

“Nott.” The man replied impassively.

“Yes, Monsieur Nott,” The shopkeeper gave him an oily smile. “We have all kinds of mirrors; talking, whistling, ones that sings lullabies, one that’ll advice you on your haircut or makeup, ones that’ll magnify your image for a better shaving experience, anything…anything at all…Monsieur.”

“I want two plain hand mirrors…” The man scratched his clean-shaved cheek, “…three actually…and they are _not_ to be the _talking_ variety. Just make sure that the frame is ornate, something that attracts ladies. That’ll be all.”

“That’ll be all?” the shopkeeper repeated, crestfallen. He had thought that he’d sell the eccentric customer some of his best and most expensive mirrors. That hope was gone now, the man was asking for plain hand mirrors with ornate frames that would attract ladies. But like a good salesman he hid his resentment and smiled broadly, “You are in the right place, Monsieur Nott. The Belgians are very famous for their mirrors.” He said proudly. “It has outstanding quality…” he paused when the man held up a hand.

“My mirrors.” He almost barked and the shopkeeper, nodding bemusedly, ran to fetch what his customer has asked.

At half past ten Draco finally returned to his suite. His job was perfectly done. The hand mirrors that he had purchased were all now imbibed with Protean Charm. It was something that he had specialized in during his sixth year. Using the stuffs of the room service, two of those have already found their ways into Hermione Granger and her friend’s suites, in two boxes that bore signs of ‘with the complements of the Palace Hotel’. The third one was with him; it was the receiver of all information, images and news. If anything happened now, no one in the world could link it to him, Draco Malfoy.

He entered his suite and had breakfast, a very relieved and contended breakfast, something that he hasn’t taken in a few years. Then he sat in the balcony and checked the day’s newspapers, waiting patiently for his clever little trick to work. The mirror was on his lap while he read the papers.

Draco was reading the news on Adrian for the fifteenth time in a row when the mirror finally buzzed. The charm has worked very well.

“Look at what they gave us today?” Came Eva’s voice. “A mirror! How beautiful!” she admired the ornate frame that he had chosen after half an hour’s browsing.  

Draco smirked contentedly. He knew most women were partial to trinkets, pretty hand mirrors and painted combs and brushes; his mother was and so was Astoria. It was something their weak gender couldn’t help.

“Eva, what’s wrong with Jean?” came Edmound’s deep voice. The man must have returned from the hospital. He seemed to not hear what his sister was telling him about the pretty hand mirror the Palace Hotel has given them with the day’s room service.

“ _What’s_ wrong with Jean?” Eva repeated, sounding confused.

Draco’s mirrors might not a real two-way mirror but his Protean Charm was working very well. He was receiving good signal of what was happening in those two suites.

“She was very quiet in the hospital.” Edmound said, sounding thoughtful.

“Was she?” Eva’s tone suggested that she was trying to avoid the question.

“Eva, I am your _twin_ brother. Okay?” Edmound said firmly, “I know you as much as you know me. Now tell me what’s wrong with Jean?” Draco narrowed his eyes and strained his ears. What was wrong with that Mudblood and why was Edmound so concerned about it?

“Er…” Eva stammered. “It’s nothing. It’s just a little chat that we had last night.” she sighed.

“About me?” Edmound asked. From where he was suddenly getting all those wits was a mystery to Draco.

“Not entirely…” Eva replied cautiously, “…well, um…but you came up too.”

Draco was suddenly very interested to learn what that Mudblood had discussed with Eva regarding her brother. He remembered her shifting in the bed and had left the suite. Did she leave the bed later and talked to Eva about Edmound? Was she planning to marry him?

His assumptions however were proved wrong. Through the Protean Charmed mirror, Draco listened closely to Eva who told her brother how Gabrielle had mistakenly taken him as Hermione’s lover and hesitated in accepting his proposal.

“Dragon’s eggs!” Edmound cried in horror when Eva finished, “What’s wrong with you ladies? How could even _think_ that?”

“Don’t blame me, okay!” Eva lashed out, equally horrified, “I never took you as Jean’s boy friend. Why don’t you go and ask your dear _Gabrielle_?”

The brother and sister quarreled in French but Draco didn’t care to listen. He was suddenly feeling very relaxed. The Mudblood wasn’t engaged to that muscular guy and his son wouldn’t be brought by a step-father. That knowledge was enough for him.

“Look, I don’t know why this thing happened but I _never_ saw Jean _that_ way.” Edmound said finally, when their hot brawling was over, “She is just a friend.”

“I know, brother.” Eva too sounded sorry to scream at his ill brother over such a silly topic.

“And it has _nothing_ to do with her past.” Edmound said firmly. “We just…don’t…click as a couple.”

“I know that too.” Eva sighed.

So the twin brother and sister knew about that Mudblood? How much did they know? That she was Potter’s pal and was assaulted during the war? Draco frowned. The answer followed immediately.

“Adrian is a very nice boy.” Edmound said, “It’s not his fault that his father is a criminal.”

Draco fisted his hands. What was that moron saying? Was he calling him, Draco Malfoy, a criminal? What did they know of their precious friend, Hermione Granger? Did they know that she was going kill his mother had he not intervened? Did they know that Draco was forced to punish her that way? Did they know that he too hated touching woman that way but that Mudblood was an exception? Then how dare they blame him without knowing the whole truth?

“I was just trying to be a good uncle to Adrian.” Edmound was saying, “I don’t want him to ever feel the absence of a father.”

Draco almost jumped to his feet, ready to curse Edmound for saying those words. How dare he? How dare he pity his son? How dare he say that Adrian didn’t have a father? How dare he blame that assault on Draco? How dare he even think that he could play father to his son? How. Dare. He?

He writhed in agony and anger alike and regretted, for the first time since yesterday, for not drowning Edmound. That man was talking taller than his tongue allowed him. He was going to be a good uncle to Adrian so that the boy never felt a father’s absence? Like Draco would let him? He could get rid of him anytime he liked. It was just a matter of time.

Draco paced in the balcony, hatching a new plan to turn Edmound into some filthy slug or decayed bone. The mirror lay forgotten on his couch. He paced for fifteen minutes and then suddenly a voice spoke inside his head. It was Audré:

_‘I wonder what will happen when your only living son comes to know that his dear father once tried to kill his uncle Edmound.’_

Draco stopped abruptly and collided with one of the columns.

_‘You can’t buy a child no matter how much you spend. You have to earn them, earn their trust and love. Killing Adrian’s mother’s friend surely isn’t going to earn you his respect.’_

_‘If you want to be a better father than he was, Draco, then you need to listen to your child. Listen to what he says, what he feels and learn from him. He might be a kid but he is a human. He sees, feels, and understands. Learn from him, nephew, learn from him._ ’

All his anger evaporated miraculously, Draco sighed and sat down on his couch. This was why he liked Audré so much. The woman knew how to tend to wounds and address the real problems rather than worry about the side ones. She was right. Edmound wasn’t Draco’s concern at all. His real concern was Adrian, about whom he knew almost nothing. Besides, he was the child’s biological father. Who could take that right away from him? No one. Then why was he wasting his time and energy on that moron Edmound?

Draco leaned against his seat, finally relaxed. The Mudblood wasn’t engaged to that dickhead and that was all that mattered. The rest was on Draco’s hands. He was going to know his son, earn his respect and love and be a good father. End of story.

He resumed reading the newspapers, with half an ear to the mirror. The one in Hermione’s suite was still silent. Maybe she was somewhere else. But Draco didn’t mind. She could fly as much as she liked before the dragon captured her.

“Uncle Edmound!” Came Adrian’s tender squeak at last. Draco checked the watch. It was almost midday and he has finally returned to the hotel with his mother. “Look what I got!”

For the first time since sneaking those mirrors to their respective owners, Draco peeped into his one. They were charmed in a way that only he could see through the others while they couldn’t. He saw Adrian carrying a large box of chocolates and showing it to Edmound who was showing great interest. He was wearing a bright yellow T-shirt and Muggle jeans. Draco liked Adrian but not the yellow attires he wore. It was so Hufflepuff! He should wear green, like his father did. It would make him look carelessly handsome, though he was already too good looking for his age.

“Truffles?” Edmound asked brightly. Draco mimed vomiting. Was he going to act like a Muggle joker to be Adrian’s father? Merlin’s rotten balls and Salazar’s condoms!

“I won it! A good old lady gave it to me!” Adrian said happily, sitting on Edmound’s lap. “You know I love chocolate truffles!”

Adrian loved chocolate truffles? Draco smiled, impressed. The kid surely had good taste on food. Draco too was partial to sweets, the reason his mother sent him daily packages from the manor when he was at Hogwarts. He would never share them with anyone, of course.

He listened to the boy’s account of how he helped an old lady to choose some chocolates, fought with a girl who was trying to shop lift and was presented with a box of chocolate truffles that had a hundred of them.

“I’ll give some to Louis and Gina.” Adrian said in the end.

“Louis and Gina?” Edmound asked, puzzled.

“Uncle, you always forget!” Adrian complained heavily, “Louis and Gina are my best friends.”

So Adrian had made two best friends already and their names were Louis and Gina? Were they purebloods? Draco frowned. And why was he going to share his prize with them? It was his.

“Where is your Mama, Adrian?” he heard Eva asked Adrian.

“She’s talking to Monsieur Leopold.” The little boy replied. He was running a hand over the large box, fondly, but not opening it. Draco wondered why. Had it been he, he would have already finished half of the box’s contents and never even thought about sharing it with anyone.

“Eva! Edmound!” finally came Hermione’s voice and looking though the charmed mirror, Draco saw her walking into the suite, wearing a light blue dress. “I just met the hotel manager. He said that they are going to make arrangements for us to visit that Flower Carpet separately.”

“Why separately?” Eva asked, checking the pamphlet the Palace Hotel had given them that morning.

“Where is Gabrielle?” Hermione asked instead, noting her absence.

“She’s in your suite.” Eva replied, “But why _separately_?” she asked the question again.

“Because hundreds of witches and wizards have already arrived at Brussels to see the Flower Carpet and the Ministry is keen to avoid any unpleasant incidents.” Hermione replied, sitting on the bed beside Eva, “Trust me, Eva. It’s better this was. In last Quidditch World Cup I saw a man wearing woman’s dressing robes. When the ministry officials asked him, he said that Muggle wear them.” She shook her head, “Maybe if the Belgian ministry doesn’t take care of the tourists we’ll see someone on drawers. He’ll probably say, it’s summer.”

Everyone excluding Adrian roared in laughter. “What is drawers, Mama?” he asked innocently.

“Drawers are like boxers that women wear.” Eva replied before her friend could, “Tell me Adrian, would you go out wearing just boxers?”

Why not? Draco thought. He was man after all and they could show their bodies.

“No, it’s a shame!” Adrian cried.

Draco was extremely annoyed. What were Granger and her pals doing, raising his son like some virgin queen? Adrian was a man, he needed his own bed, own suite and own liberty to go out as he pleased, with boxers or without.

“Monsieur Leopold told me that the ministry will allow the magical community to visit the Carpet on the night of the 12th, right after it’s inaugurated.” Hermione was telling her audience, “Brooms will be arranged and kids can take a ride across the carpet.”

Her words ‘brooms’ and ‘kids’ caught Draco’s attention immediately.

“Mama, I want to have a ride!” Adrian cried and Draco, from the other side of the mirror thought that his heart would burst from happiness. Yes, that’s it. He wasn’t interested in some blasted Muggle flower carpet or toe rug. But if Adrian was going there, so was his father. He was going to buy Adrian some more truffles, and take him on a ride across the carpet. Draco was going to be a good father.

The rest of the conversation continued on why magical community thought it was worthy to visit a Muggle flower carpet and how it was different and all that rubbish only a Mudblood and her pals would think. Draco didn’t pay heed to the nonsense chat. His sole concern was taking Adrian on a ride.

“I assume that that Slytherin brain of yours is formulating a plan, dear nephew.”

Draco jerked his head, returning to reality. Focusing his gaze, he found Audré sitting before him, her hands folded on her lap and her eyes, calm.

“Adrian will be going to that flower carpet or whatever with his mother and her friends. It will be a terrible waste if his father doesn’t accompany him there.” He said smugly.

“I guess no one will drown or thrown from the roof this time.” Audré enquired solemnly. There was something about her that it never occurred to Draco to ignore her warning.

“I hope not.” He replied confidently, “So you’ve been shopping.” He said, looking down at the shopping bags that lay on her feet. For some strange reason, they were full of chocolate boxes.

“So have you, nephew.” Audré’s eyes were on Draco’s mirror, “You did very well with the Protean Charm.”

“I learned all its variations in my sixth year.” Draco stated proudly. Indeed he had, following the secrets behind coins of Dumbledore’s Army was revealed. Clever charms as that, always drew him like a magnet.

“My nephew is a very intelligent man.” Audré smirked. “Pity he doesn’t know himself.”

Draco knew that smirk. It was the one that proceeded before a serious talk. “Aunt, can you please talk straight?” He sat straight and bade politely. “I can’t always fathom your schemes.”

“Let’s play chess then.” Audré offered pleasantly, “You’ll _fathom_ my scheme once it’s over.” She waved her wand and a chessboard appeared. The pieces were old and used, not new and shiny. “It’s my grandpa’s. He taught me all about chess. Zilek, my personal elf, never forgets to pack it for me.”

Draco eyed the pieces. He wasn’t a champion at chess but could play reasonably well, at least better than that Potter did. He had seen him and that Weasel king playing chess at the Great Hall and snorted at the moves the Chosen One chose.

Draco eyed his opponent next. Audré. She was sitting with such a pleasant smile that he wondered what could the reason be.

“You’ll find out soon, nephew.” Audré said, as if reading his thoughts, “Let’s play chess now.”

“Okay.” Draco shrugged and let his aunt choose the pieces. She chose the black pieces, leaving Draco to deal with the whites.

They played chess until lunchtime and Draco had to admit that his aunt was way better than any player he has ever seen or met. She wouldn’t take Draco’s pieces or attack him from a hidden corner for he was an alert player and always made cautious moves. All her pieces were there and yet he couldn’t stop it when her black queen check-mated his white king.   

“You are a chess genius, aunt!” Draco was impressed and accepted his defeat, which was a rare phenomenon for a Malfoy.

“No, Draco, I am not.” Audré waved her wand and the board disappeared, “But I won because our focuses were different.”

“Meaning?” Draco frowned.

“You asked me what my scheme was.” Audré said simply, “I showed it to you. In that game of chess, you were focused on _winning_ while I was focused on _learning_ the moves of my opponent. It doesn’t matter to me if I lose, Draco, but it matters to _you_ if you lose.”

Draco remained silent, letting his aunt continue.

“Last night, dear nephew, I asked you learn from your son how to be a good father. I don’t know what you took my words as, but you got up this morning, bought some mirrors, placed Protean Charms on them and slipped them into Jean Granger’s suites. Right?” Audré asked.

Draco nodded.

“See? You did the right thing for the wrong purpose.” Audré shrugged.

 “Wrong purpose?” Draco repeated, skeptic.

“You purpose was to know what Adrian likes and dislikes so that you can play accordingly and win his heart.” Audré it seemed knew how to phrase complex things in very simple terms. “I arrived here when you were engrossed in listening to that conversation and you didn’t even notice my presence. So I stood and watched your facial expressions. One doesn’t need Legilimency if they can read faces, nephew. Your eyes lit up when you heard that Adrian liked chocolate truffles. You fisted your right hand, which meant that you were planning to buy them for him. But you frowned deeply when you heard that Adrian was planning to share his truffles with his best friends. Could it be more obvious that you don’t like him to share his things, just as you said you don’t like people _touching your things_?”

“Adrian is not a _thing_ , Draco.” Audré undoubtedly could facial expressions than the Dark Lord could read minds. “He is a human being, a moving, living, feeling human being. And you _share_ him with his mother, Jean Granger. I met them in the Muggle superstore. She is nice lady.”

“You met her where?” Draco sat straight, the word Muggle not missing his sensitive ears.

“I knew you’d react that way, dear nephew.” Audré said casually, her features calm and very relaxed. “I met them in the Muggle superstore, where I bought all these chocolates.”

Draco stared at her in disbelief. Suddenly everything was making sense: Adrian’s story about the shop, a girl trying to hit him when he prevented a shop-lift. His hands fisted themselves automatically. How dare a Muggle, a filthy Muggle, a toe rag, a dirt under their shoes, tried to his son, a Malfoy? It was all that Mudblood’s fault. How dare she take his son to a Muggle shop?

“The way you are breathing fire, _Draco_ , my nephew, I guess I should call the fire fighters in advance.” Audré said, looking so serene as if it was Draco’s wedding day. “Relax. That girl’s issue has been taken care of.”

“What? You hurt a Muggle?” With so many new information Draco didn’t know which one to react to.

“No.” Audré replied, “I just taught her a lesson for lying.”

“What did you do to her?” Draco asked seriously. Granger could go to hell. He was eager to learn if the girl was punished well enough. If not, he’d hunt her down, punish her accordingly and bring her on knees before Adrian.

“That I’ll tell you when we are done discussing this important issue.” Audré ignored his question, “As I was saying, I met Jean and Adrian in the Muggle shop. I needed someone to help me buy chocolates for the _Muggle_ kids of my neighbourhood. So asked for the boy’s help. His mother agreed and Adrian helped me buy all these chocolates.” She waved at the shopping bags.

“Adrian helped you?” suddenly all those meaningless chocolates were like treasures to Draco. He picked up a box. His son had helped Audré in buying them. How very thoughtful!

“Exactly, Draco.” Audré said, “How very charming of that little boy to help an old lady! Don’t you see, nephew, you love him for his innocence, his simplicity, his kindness and yet you hate the person who brought him with all those qualities, his mother: Jean Granger.”

Draco looked up at his aunt, finally getting the point she was addressing.

“You hate sharing you _things_.” Audré went on, “But you share the most important _person_ in your life with a woman you apparently hate. You treasure the chocolate _box_ Adrian helped me to buy and you tried to kill his _favorite_ uncle. You are an intelligent man, Draco but you don’t know what you _really_ want. You spy on your son to know what he likes and dislikes, rather than understand the person he is. You play chess to win, not to learn the moves, not to learn the opponent, or in this case, your _only living son_.”

Draco couldn’t argue when he knew Audré was right in saying those words. Indeed he has made his precious son sad; it was true that he loved the boy for his unique innocence and hated the woman who was behind that upbringing. He played to win him, not to understand the person he was and has ended up hurting his tender feelings. Adrian would hate his father if Draco didn’t learn from the mistakes.

“If you continue to do this, Draco, you’ll very soon lose your precious son.” Audré sighed sadly, “Look at yourself! Your father gave you everything; expensive brooms, clothes, his name, manor, property, everything he had and yet you resent your relationship with him. Why, nephew, why?”

“Because he never understood that I tried my best to fulfill his wishes.” Draco replied in a small voice. The idea that he’d share the same kind of relationship with his Adrian was paining him greatly.

“Which Narcissa understood.” Audré said evenly, deciphering the hidden meaning very well, “See with everything that money could buy, you father couldn’t actually _win_ you. But your mother won you, even though she never spent a sickle on you.”

“I got your point, aunt.” Draco finally admitted. “I can’t buy a child no matter how much I spend.” Indeed Audré’s using him as a living example had been very well thought and clever. 

“That’s the reason I said you did the right thing for wrong purpose.” Audré returned to the mother topic. It marveled Draco how she always knew where to begin, how to proceed and how to finish a fruitful conversation. “Your real purpose should be to learn from that kid to be a better man and earn his respect. You can’t earn his respect by buying him all the truffles in the world, at least not in the long run.”

Draco remained silent for a very long moment following those honest words. Audré, like the clever and diplomatic person she was, didn’t puncture it.

“How did you punish that bloody Muggle?” Draco finally thought it was safe to ask.

“It’s a Muggle story which I am sure you never read, nephew.” Audré replied, her smirk back on her features, “Pinocchio. He was curved as a wooden puppet. Whenever he lied, his nose grew in length.”

Draco suddenly had a great vivid vision of a girl crying as her nose grew like a wooden rod before her and laughed out loud.

“You have great sense of humour!” He said once the laughter finished, “Even I couldn’t have punished anyone that way.”

“Firstly my dear nephew, it wasn’t punishment. It was teaching a lesson for a wrong doing. There is a very thin line of difference between the two. We, as flawed human beings ourselves, are in _no position_ to torture someone in the name of _punishment_.” Audré said calmly but firmly, “Secondly, I somehow find a similarity between you and Pinocchio. He was carved as a puppet; you were carved as a Malfoy. Pinocchio dreamt of becoming a _real_ boy. You, Draco, are set on a path to become a _real_ man, one who would be Adrian’s dear father, someone he’ll love and respect.”

Her last words kept ringing in Draco’s ears long after Audré left.

Yes, he, Draco lived for that day, when his Adrian would be proud of his father.

•••••

Alexis Delacour, the Junior Undersecretary, hasn’t spoken much except for five ‘yes’s, three ‘no’s and several curt nods on Monday morning. This wasn’t his usual mode of communication; under normal conditions he talked more, a dozen ‘yes’s and two dozen ‘no’s would do while he was at office. But today, there was a special reason behind the silence. Today, the office of the Minister of Magic had a very important interdepartmental meeting with the Office of Magical Law Enforcement.

The Minister of Magic of the French Republic was an amiable man by the name of François Guizot. He was a Muggleborn wizard whose father was a teacher and mother, a seamstress. Hailing from a middle-class family, he was considered as one of best ministers the magical population of republic has ever seen, after the legendary Pierre Laval. It was also an open secret that he has made himself a number very high profile enemies, mostly purebloods, who detested being ruled by a Muggleborn.

On the other hand, the Head of the Department of Magic Law Enforcement was a half-blood, middle-aged Auror by the name of Singer Sergeant. No matter what his given name implied, he was never a singer and could ever be. When he talked, his voice boomed and those in the vicinity either covered their ears or screwed their faces. Sergeant was an ever-severe looking, cold, calculating, no-nonsense man who when walked, created a small earthquake among his juniors.  He considered himself very highly among his colleagues, for he was handpicked and trained by the celebrated French Auror, Adrian Jourdián, Alexis Delacour’s uncle.

On Monday morning the interdepartmental meeting proceeded as usual, with the Minister presiding over it. From his seat on his left, Alexis kept stealing solemn glances at Julian de Chombrun Malfoy, the Second-in-Command in the department of Magical Law Enforcement. This man was the real reason behind his silence. He was wondering if he could take advantage of the situation and worm out some inside information about Julian’s cousin, Draco.

Alexis returned his gaze to the Minister. He was discussing an issue regarding sudden increase in illegal wand import. Sergeant was telling him his plan to raid the traders and the Minister was asking him to observe them for a while. Julian, Alexis knew from their very few interactions, was normally very enthusiastic about raiding and would certainly support his boss, Sergeant. But this morning, he looked subdued, as if immersed in his own thoughts. Was it because of Draco? Has he done something? Has he misbehaved with Julian’s younger sister? Alexis knew Julian had a sister by the name of Lillian. Given what Draco had done at the age of seventeen, it wasn’t much unexpected of him that he would try it on his French cousin should opportunity permit.

Alexis’s fingers automatically fisted around his quill. Draco Malfoy! That one monster has ruined Jean’s trust on men.

The meeting finished with Sergeant and Guizot agreeing that they would wait for another week before going into an action against the illegal wand traders. Alexis was wondering if he should try to whip up a conversation with Julian to learn more about his cousin when the Minister solved the problem.

“Julian? My lad!” He called the silent Second-in-Command good naturedly, “Why are you so quiet today? Is it Sergeant?” he gave the Head a pointed reproachful look.

Sergeant snorted. To those who didn’t know him, it would sound like a rhinoceros snorting loudly. “The chap’s been quiet since his famous cousin barged in.” He said or rather boomed, “Draco Malfoy.”

“Draco…Malfoy?” a wrinkle appeared in the Minister’s forehead, “Is he…” he looked at Alexis for help.

“He is Monsieur Chombrun Malfoy’s British uncle, Lucius Malfoy’s son.” Alexis replied impassively. As the Minister’s Undersecretary it was his duty to maintain all his correspondences and supply him with references or information. “It’s a common knowledge that Monsieur Malfoy and his family were active followers of the Dark Lord.”

“Oh! Now I see why my ever jolly lad is so quiet today.” The Minister nodded, getting the subtle hint, “It must be terrible to have a Death Eater’s son to visit his place.”

“No, it’s quite the contrary, Monsieur Guizot.” Julian finally spoke up, looking confident, “We are very happy to receive them at our home. My mother thinks it’s high time that we reforge the old relationship and work on the family differences that created a rift between two brothers. The next generation should not pay for what happened between our fathers.”

“No offense, dear lad!” the Minister cried, sensing Julian’s defensive tone, “No offense! I was just putting myself in your place. With what happened between the two brothers, it would have been hard for me to accept _my_ cousin.” He said with a smile. For a man who was a Minister, Guizot was wonderfully friendly, “But I think it’s Madame Chombrun Malfoy who deserves to be truly praised. She must be a very kind and great lady to invite them here.”  

Julian smiled and nodded. Alexis has noted how this man liked his mother being praised, even though the occasions were very few. He knew Audré Chombrun Malfoy has retired from her work as a brilliant lawyer when her husband died.  

“And what’s wrong with my own little chap, Alexis?” the Minister attacked his Undersecretary next, patting heavily on his right shoulder and breaking his musings. “He’s been too quiet since morning. I noticed that.”

“Maybe he found out that he’s pregnant.” the Senior Undersecretary, Philippe Merle, suggested. He was a man notoriously famous for his obscene taste in humour and it was his favourite sport to tease Alexis for being a single man with a shamefully spotless image.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Philippe!” the Minister cried reproachfully. For a moment Alexis thought he was going to chastise the Senior Undersecretary.  “For that Alexis has to have some _sex_!” he said instead.

Everyone roared in laughter except Alexis, who shook his head. It has been always like this, men ending up in dirty talks after serious discussions were over. He stole a glance at Julian. He was examining his fingernails, not caring to join the smutty talks. So Madame Chombrun Malfoy has invited the British Malfoys to reforge their old relationship? Interesting.

The dirty talks proceeded for a while with the Senior Undersecretary suggesting some kinky bedroom tricks to the Minister which he claimed every woman secretly wished their men tried on them. Alexis displayed an impassive face all throughout the ordeal and bore down with it. When the meeting ended, he let out a sigh of relief, thanked the Minister and returned to his office.

Alexis’s office was one of the two offices directly connected to the Minister’s, with one door leading to it and another, leading into his one from a wide corridor that acted as a common conduit. It was a room spacious enough to accommodate all his books, school medals, filing cabinets and a polished mahogany desk. On the walls were photographs of Alexis shaking hands with Ministers of different countries, a stationary portrait of his uncle Adrian and his sister, Fleur, wearing a medal for outstanding bravery during the Second Wizarding War and standing beside her proud husband, Bill Weasley. On the desk was propped a Delacour family photograph with two little kids on it: Adrian and Victoire, waving at the camera. Hermione could be seen smiling beside her son. She was sitting on Apolline’s right.

Alexis took his seat behind the desk and focused his gaze on the photograph. Hermione looked good when she smiled, like she didn’t know what pain was. Would Edmound be able to keep her smiling like that? Alexis knew the man as much as a man would about the man his love interest was interested in. Edmound worked at the Ministry, as a Magical Animal Explorer. Collecting and researching on rare magical animals was both his passion and profession. He was an easy going man with a carefree attitude towards life, a complete opposite to Hermione. Would he be able to keep her, keep them – Hermione and Adrian, happy?

Alexis didn’t know the answer. So far it was clear that Adrian was very fond of Edmound. They both shared a common love for animals. But was it enough for Hermione to choose him as a life partner? Alexis frowned. It was very hard to know what was happening inside that brilliant mind, for she was as secretive as he was. Maybe she purposely chose Edmound because he was opposite to what she was.

There was a knock on the door and his musings broke. It must be his secretary.

“Come in.” Alexis bade.

The door opened and in came the last person he expected to visit him at this hour of the day.

“Maman!” Alexis gasped and stood up. Indeed Apolline Delacour was standing on her son’s office, looking very serious. The signature harpy look of Veelas, when they were angry, was clearly visible in her pretty features.

“Maman, is everything alright?” Alexis’s first thought was Fleur. She lived abroad and only something serious of that magnitude could bring Madame Delacour to visit her son in his office. “Is Fleur okay?” he asked anxiously.

In response Apolline only pursed her lips, walked to his desk and took a seat. He was still standing before her, perplexed, when she took out a letter and held it for him.

“I have never seen a bigger fool!” Apolline said tersely, “You gave a heart attack, Alexis.”

“Heart attack?” Alexis got neither head nor tail of that unfair accusation.

“Read the damned letter, will you?” Apolline almost barked. This happened only when she was exceptionally angry. “It came just half an hour ago. From Brussels.”

Alexis took the letter, his mind now jumping to Gabrielle. They have already sent Apolline a letter the day before, about Adrian’s winning the competition. Then why again? Was something wrong there? Was she okay? Was Hermione okay? Has she had another meltdown?

Holding his breath, Alexis unfolded the scented piece of parchment and read it on one go. Then he slumped on his seat, holding the letter and staring blankly.

Nostradamus! What a fool had he been! What. A. Fool. And he claimed to be a Junior Undersecretary? Shame! Shame!

“I could have waited for you to come home, but…” came Apolline’s thoughtful voice. Like her son, she seemed to be on her wit’s ends, “Alexis, do you know why I never pressed you to get married and settle down even though your younger sister, Fleur, got married before you? Many, including your aunts, asked me what was wrong with you. They asked me why you always avoid woman. Do you have some disease? Are you impotent? We have so many beautiful ladies in our family, I am talking about your Veela cousins. They dream about you and you don’t even look at them!”

“Maman, I am sorry.” Alexis sighed, “I am really really sorry to have you go through this.”

“Don’t be.” Apolline said firmly, “Because I know you can’t help it. It’s not your fault Alexis, that you can’t express yourself before women. Even your uncle Adrian was like this: very serious when it came to work and a complete jerk when it came to women. It was his wife who finally succeeded in bringing some change into him. I guess that’s how it is with Veelas. Females are more dominant than males.”

“I am sorry maman that I couldn’t play up to your expectations.” Alexis shook his head. It pained him even more that his mother had been silently waiting for her son to get over his awkwardness.

“Just two nights ago Gustave was asking me if you are _our_ son.” Apolline continued, ignoring his apologies. “At _twenty three_ , that man, who is a head shorter than me, had the courage to go to my papa and ask for my hand. He had nothing but the family business and his family was against our marriage. Now look at yourself! At _twenty nine_ , you are a junior Undersecretary, you run half of the Ministry, you talk to foreign delegates, you help the Minister to solve numerous problems and yet it never occurred to you that Edmound was Jean’s friend and nothing more? If you don’t believe me, read that letter again. He has proposed to Gabrielle. Not Jean!”

Alexis didn’t know whether there was a moment so beautiful and relieving while listening to his mother’s harsh reprimands. He knew he deserved being screamed at but somehow it felt immensely good; as if a heavy load has been removed from his soul.

“I am sorry that I misled you.” He apologized for the third time in a row.

“Are you going to stop that ‘I am sorry maman’?” Apolline snarled, “I am not going to lose Jean for your foolishness. Did you get me, Alexis Delacour?”

“Yes, I do, Madame Apolline Delacour.” Alexis nodded solemnly. Indeed, his way forward was now clear and he was not going to lose another moment. He left his seat and went to his mother. Feeling a great rush of love for the kind hearted fierce woman, he sat before her, took her pretty hands into his and kissed them softly, “I love you.” He whispered.

Apolline’s expression softened immediately. She twisted his left ear affectionately.

“Alexis, I want you to listen to me very closely.” She said, held a firm finger before his eyes. “It’s a man’s job to propose a woman and not the other way round, okay? Even with Bill and Fleur, who were smitten in love, it was _he_ who proposed to her. So did Edmound to Gabrielle. That man may be an animal maniac, but he too knows the universal rule. So if you want the woman you love, Alexis, you have to take matters into hand. Okay?” Apolline’s features were dead serious, “You can’t seat here, hands on hands waiting for Jean to approach you, ask you about what Gabrielle told her. If you don’t talk to her now, if you hesitate for one moment, she might think that you are not interested and it’s all a matchmaking scheme by us – Gabrielle and I. Do you understand?”

Alexis nodded solemnly. “I understand, maman.”

“Fine! So when are you going to talk to her?” Apolline demanded.

Alexis considered the question and stood up, leaving for the Minister’s office.

“Where?” Came his mother’s confused query.

His hand on the door knob Alexis turned to her. “You know, maman, the Minister was ridiculing me this morning.” He told her matter-of-factly, “He thinks even I can become pregnant, if I try.”

“What?” Apolline spat, thundered.

Alexis ignored her. “But I think I like the idea. I am going to Brussels and see if I can conceive, like the minister said.” He turned to leave.

“Alexis! Don’t you dare…” Apolline’s horrified exclaim couldn’t complete when her son held up a hand.

“Maman, it was just a joke.” He said, sporting a sincere smile, “Something you can’t help if you work with Philippe Merle.” He winked.

If one listened to his heart now, they would hear sounds of rain falling after a long drought, soaking its cracked surface with water where soon flowers would bloom.

•••••

Hermione’s workshop on Cursed Diamonds was supposed to end on 11th August and on that day she arrived at Gringotts after lunch, while Adrian was taking a little nap under Gabrielle’s care. So far one thing was clear to her: the Belgian goblins did know how to treat their precious diamonds. As a famous book worm, there were hardly any books left on this planet that hasn’t passed under her nose. She has even collected ancient scriptures from Babylon, to broaden the horizon of her knowledge. But after this workshop, Hermione wondered if she has ever read anything at all. Like Elves, goblins too were seriously underestimated by wizards, who were too full of themselves and their precious magical abilities. Somehow during their thousand years of living side by side, it has never occurred to the wizards that behind that twisted ugly face and bat ears lied a race that not only protected their gold but also harboured invaluable knowledge any book could ever give them.

The workshop had eight working days but Hermione was especially waiting for the last one. Today the Head Goblin was going to demonstrate some secret methods they used to wandlessly detect a poisoning curse. Diamonds, as it was believed from ancient times, was a toxic gemstone, something that magnified its alluring value even more. As it was with Potions, in curse breaking too, not everything was just wand work. Hermione knew most of the spells on tracing curses with a wand; but without wands it was almost impossible. She listened in rapt attention and noted down all the points the Head Goblin told them about detecting curses by simple observation. It marveled her how they could tell so much about an innocent looking diamond just by looking at it.  

When the workshop ended, outside the mullioned windows of the Chief Curse Breaker’s Atelier, the night was slowly falling. Hermione closed her notebook and smiled. She had come to Brussels with an empty notebook. Now except for one the rest of the six hundred and twenty two pages were filled with diagrams, instructions and notes.

But was it all that she would take back to Paris? Certainly no. In Brussels, a mother has come to know her child from close, a son has made his mother proud and happy, a sister has finally stopped yelling at her brother and two people have discovered their love: Gabrielle and Edmound. What more could one ask from one trip?

Hermione carefully stowed her precious notebook into her bag and stood up, preparing to leave. There were altogether five Curse Breakers from around the globe: Brazil, Croatia, France, The Netherlands and New Zealand, attending the workshop and Hermione was the only woman in the group. One by one she shook hands with all of them, with promises to be in regular correspondence in future. Then the Brazilian Curse Breaker presented everyone with a jar of best Brazilian coffee as a farewell gift.

“Eet ees veree chocolatee.” He said in his deep voice, looking proud. Hermione was already accustomed with the Brazilian accent and understood what he said: Brazilian coffee was very chocolaty.

The Dutch Curse Breaker examined the coffee jar with interest before stowing it inside his robe. He admitted apologetically before them that it was his first time in a workshop like this and therefore he was unaware of this little custom of exchanging gifts. The other Curse Breakers didn’t seem very much bothered by it at all. The Croatian Curse Breaker gave them all a special necktie that was native to his country. It was called _Croata_. The Kiwi Curse Breaker had brought a pair of Silver Fern cufflinks. They looked slightly appalled to hand the male items to a lady.

“Don’t worry.” Hermione assured them, “My son will love to have some men’s things in his wardrobe.” She had a vivid vision of Adrian in a foot long necktie and cufflinks larger than his palm’s size and laughed.

“ _Savon de Marseille_.” The gift exchange almost at its end, she gave the men a bar of Marseille Soaps, “The makers use best quality natural ingredients from Marseilles, like sage and lavender. It leaves a beautiful scent long after the bath is over.”

“I seeee.” The Brazilian Curse Breaker sniffed the soap and nodded. He was already wearing the silver fern cufflinks. “My daughter weel likee it a lot.” He smiled brightly at her.

Hermione smiled and had one last gift to deliver to the Head Goblin when he called her.

“Mademoiselle Granger? Can I have a word?”

“Yeah, sure.” Hermione nodded and with a last wave of goodbye at the Curse Breakers walked to the Head Goblin’s desk.

“Please.” The goblin showed her a seat. Even for a goblin his manners were very elegant. “I was wondering if I could ask you a personal question.” He enquired once she settled down.

Hermione’s immediate thought was the little farewell gifts she had brought for the fellow Curse Breakers. She knew she couldn’t gift a goblin with soaps; they might take it differently. Therefore she has brought for the Head Goblin, a bottle of best quality wine.

“Mademoiselle, can I ask you where you got those gold bars?” the Head Goblin asked her something completely unexpected.

“Gold bars?” for a split second, Hermione didn’t know what the goblin was talking about. Then she remembered the three gold bars Monsieur Leopold had given Adrian as his ten thousand galleons prize money. She had deposited it to the Belgian Gringotts and asked them to transfer it to her account in France.

“Oh yes, gold bars. My son, Adrian, won them in a Drawing Competition.” She replied, wondering if there was some legal issue in transferring such a large sum of money. “Is there any problem, Head Goblin?”

“No, no, not one.” The Head Goblin waggled a long finger, deciphering her concern very well. “Actually, it’s not the source but the substance that has made me curious.” He said, placing the pointed chin on the flat of his palm, “During my service in Gringotts, I have come across _such_ quality of gold only on three occasions.” He held up three fingers in the air. “The first two were when two royal weddings took place. I believe you know that a part of the Belgian royal family carries magical blood. Muggles don’t know it, of course; we do. And the third time was when I saw those gold bars you gave us to transfer to France.” His beady black eyes glinted, not in greed but in astonishment, “The gold in those bars are _very pure_. Only aristocratic and old pureblood families are allowed to use that gold. We, goblins, call it _The Aureus Gold_.”

“I…see…” Hermione commented vaguely, not knowing how to react. She had read all about the Aureus Gold in books on Roman cursed gold coins. They indeed were very rare, and found only in Italy. “Are those bars cursed?” She asked, though she knew that possibility was very distant. Monsieur Leopold knew that his esteemed guest, Jean Granger, was the Chief Curse Breaker of French Gringotts. What more, the Head Goblin of Belgian Gringotts, who had personally booked her suite in the Palace Hotel, was an expert in detecting curses. Most importantly, the bars were for the winner of a competition. The hotel manager certainly wouldn’t do such a mistake of giving her son some cursed gold bars, knowing who she was. Besides, how would Leopold know that Adrian would win the competition? That was up to judges’ pane to decide, not him.

“No! No!” the Head Goblin shook his oblong head violently, looking startled, “The bars are fine! You can check them yourself once you return to France. I didn’t mean to alarm you, Mademoiselle.”

“No, it’s alright.” Hermione smiled, slapping herself mentally. “I am not alarmed. It’s just that I am so much surrounded by cursed things that sometimes I forget that there could be normal things too.”

“I understand.” The Head Goblin nodded, his twisted features sporting a very kind smile, “Well if you were not a Muggleborn witch, Mademoiselle, I’d have thought that you have hidden royal connections.”

“Royal connections?” Hermione stared.

“Well, isn’t it pretty obvious? The Goblin asked, “The insignia on the bars says that they were forged by British goblins. You are a British yourself. The British have a world famous royal family…” 

“I got it! I got it!” Hermione nodded, finally making the connections, “No…no, I don’t have any royal connections. In fact, I have never been near one. Like most British people I, too, have seen them on TV or in news. But…” she frowned. Did the goblin just say that the bars were made in Britain? “Monsieur Head Goblin, can you please tell me where those bars actually came from? From Italy or from Britain?”

“Tracing gold is not our job, Mademoiselle.” The Head Goblin replied with a polite smile, “Our job is to protect them, which no one does better than us.” He stated proudly, “But the gold is surely the prestigious Aureus; it originated from Italy and was made into bars in Britain. And it’s completely safe for you or your son to use them.”   

She or her son? Hermione didn’t miss those words. Somehow it rang a bell inside her head. Among aristocratic Romans, she had read, it was a centuries old tradition for fathers to present their firstborn sons with The Aureus Gold, for any grand occasion. Aureus was a special family gold and passed from a father to his firstborn son only, not to other sons and definitely not to daughters who’d leave the family once they got married. Since men had multiple wives then, only the boy who was presented with The Aureus Gold and his mother would be able to use the gold for themselves.

Hermione decided not to press the point with the Head Goblin of Belgian Gringotts. Once she returned to France, she could show Geccemp the gold bars and check how much of that legend about Aureus was true. She didn’t have a husband, let alone a Roman and Adrian’s father was definitely not an Italian. But if the gold was indeed Aureus, then according to the Wizarding Law, he wouldn’t be able to use them. It was not that ten thousand galleons mattered to Hermione; she earned a lot more than that. But a mother would never like to have her son cheated into receiving gold he wouldn’t be able to actually use. 

They talked for another five minutes during which the Head Goblin thanked her for joining the workshop and delightedly received his farewell gift. Hermione thanked him and left for the Palace Hotel.

The hotel not being very far from the Wizarding bank she decided to go on foot; that way she could have some time to think alone. While walking through the alleys of Laan Grote Markt, two sentences kept playing in her head: Old pureblood and British goblins. Old purebloods subconsciously reminded her of the Malfoys and the Lestranges and British goblins reminded her of Griphook and his betrayal. The Malfoys were in France, the Lestranges were dead, and Griphook was murdered by Voldemort himself.  Then why were those words bothering her?

She remembered the dream she had early on Sunday morning. That horrible rasping voice of Jacob Jordeans was still ringing in her ears.

_“He’s mine…he’s mine… he’s mine…give him to me…he’s mine…I need him…he’s mine…”_

Completely lost in her thoughts, Hermione collided with a passer-by and her bag fell. She stooped down and reached towards it. The passer-by mirrored her movement and their heads bumped.

“Ouch!”

“Offf!”

“Jean?”

Rubbing her forehead Hermione straightened up and blinked, trying to focus her eyes on the man who picked up the bag, dusted it and held it out for her. No, her eyes were not deceiving. There he was, Alexis Delacour, in black robes, standing on an alley of Laan Grote Markt that came down from the Belgian Ministry of Magic.

“Ale…xis?” Hermione stammered, the memory of that night’s conversation suddenly rushing in and occluding all other thoughts, “When…did…er…you come?”

“Just now.” The man replied solemnly, his ever pensive black eyes fixed on Hermione. “I was going to the Palace Hotel when we bumped.” He didn’t seem remotely surprised to see her, as if he already knew they’d meet like this on the road. “Your bag, Jean?” He offered when she continued gaping at him.

“Mer…ci.” Hermione took the bag, adjusted the strap and swung it on her shoulder, taking more time on purpose to recover from the initial shock. Why was she so nervous? Wasn’t she a Gryffindor? And this man was Alexis, for Merlin’s sake! Just Alexis! Okay! It was not that she loved him or something.

“Shall we go then?” Alexis asked, examining her pensive features.

“Yeah, sure.” Hermione, keen to utilize the awkward moment, nodded. They started walking.

It was evening already. The cafés on either side of the wide alley were roaring with business, serving the tourist wizards and witches with Belgian delicacies. Delicious wafts of coffee and famous Belgian wafers reached her nostrils. And here she was, walking down a winding alley with Alexis, the last person she expected to meet at this hour of the day, when she was returning to her son. The cafés, the men, the night air fragrant with scents of sweet begonia and chocolate, the entire atmosphere felt strangely surreal, real but not exactly real; as if she was walking but didn’t know who was controlling her feet.

“So…er…” Hermione racked her brain for a polite way to enquire why Alexis was here when he had said that he had some important works at the Ministry and couldn’t accompany them to Brussels. Was he here for her? Has Gabrielle written something about that night to Apolline? But she couldn’t finish her words for Alexis suddenly stopped and looked around.

“Is there any place we can have a cup of coffee?” He asked. His gaze returned to Hermione, “You look pretty tired, Jean.” He commented.

“Er…” Hermione has never felt so stupid in her life. It was more embarrassing than standing before Krum when he had asked to take her to the Yule Ball. Merlin! Why did Gabrielle do this? Why did she tell her about Alexis? How was she going to talk to him now? This was so embarrassing!

“Is everything alright, Jean?” Alexis asked cautiously, trying to decipher the reason behind Hermione’s strange silence. For the first time, her middle name, Jean, sounded very different when Alexis used it, like it was some kind of spell. “Am I ruining your holiday?”

“No!” Hermione blurted out, suddenly back on her senses. _Enough is enough, Hermione Jean Granger. You are a Gryffindor! Pull yourself up!_ “I…” her eyes fell on a café just behind them. They were serving chocolate ice creams and coffee. “We can go there, if you like.” She suggested, looking past his left ear.

Alexis followed the direction of her gaze, turned his head and saw the café. With big glass windows that looked out on the main alley of Laan Grote Markt, it bore a sign that read _Café Blanc_. “After you.” He smiled and bowed.

Hermione took a deep breath, like the one she had taken before she was Sorted and started for Café Blanc. ‘ _Hermione, it’s okay! It’s fine! It’s just a cup of coffee! It’s not that he is going to propose you or something!_ ’ she kept telling herself.

Alexis followed her silently. When they reached, the café door swung open and allowed them in. They stood on the doorway and scanned the place for an empty table.

“How about that one?” Alexis asked pointing at a table near the glass windows that had some privacy from prying eyes.

“Fine.” Hermione nodded not giving any particular thought to where they sat. Her thoughts were centered on the man who stood beside her. Why was it that she never noticed that Alexis was almost as tall as Ron? Or that he flanked and protected her when they stood side by side. Or that underneath his black robes, he had a well built body.

“After you, Jean.” Alexis’s silky voice brought Hermione to reality and she started for the table. For the first time in her life, she was acutely feeling the presence of a man beside her and not Fleur and Gabrielle’s brother, Apolline and Gustave’s son, Adrian’s dear uncle or the venerable Junior Undersecretary. They walked by the tables and reached theirs. Hermione was about to draw her chair when Alexis drew it for her.

“I hope you wouldn’t mind me showing you a little courtesy.” He said, smiling, “I know my little nephew would greatly love to see his mother well taken care of.”

“Yes, he would.” Hermione smiled as politely as she could, all the while trying to be confident and not just some flimsy and frail glass doll who couldn’t take a step without a man’s help. They sat, with Hermione placing her bag on her lap.

“I had heard that Brussels is full of tourists.” Alexis said conversationally, looking around the café where witches and wizards chatted, “The Flower Carpet must be something really attractive to tempt even the Wizarding population.”

“Mostly they come to see how Muggles make a gigantic carpet of flowers without magic.” Hermione said, watching Alexis from the corner of her eyes. He was wearing a midnight blue shirt and black necktie with little blue dots on it. As always he was clean shaved and with neatly trimmed black hair, the perfect look for a Ministry official. Was he handsome?

Hermione couldn’t deny that Alexis was quite good looking, even though he hasn’t inherited his mother’s pretty features. But there was a suave look about him that gave one a strange mental peace. She remembered meeting him for the first time at the Paris train station, Gare du Nord. She had been expecting a man with silvery blonde hair who’d be proficient at handling three or four Veela girl friends. But Alexis turned out to be nothing close to her imagination. He was a workaholic man with no visible interest in women. Well that was what she thought until Gabrielle told her the truth.

“How’s Edmound?” Alexis turned his gaze to Hermione and asked. It was on that moment that she remembered what Gabrielle and Eva had said about those eyes:

_‘You know my brother, Jean. He never speaks his mind. It is in his eyes.’_

_‘I am surprised that you never noticed it! I saw it every time he looked at you. It was there.’_

Were they right? Was it really in Alexis’s eyes? Was it she who never noticed them? Was Eva right in saying:

_‘The reason you never saw it in Alexis’s eyes is because you don’t feel comfortable with man as your lover. You can be wonderfully open to your friends, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, or to my brother. But whenever it’s someone who might see you differently, you shrink. You think they want you…physically. Am I right?’_

“Jean? Are you alright?” Alexis waved a hand before Hermione’s eyes and she closed them, mortified. Merlin! What was she doing staring at him like that? What was he going to think about her?

“I guess you are more tired than you actually appear as.” Alexis said thoughtfully and Hermione opened her eyes, slightly relieved. He has already conjured a glass of water. “Here, Jean, take some water.”

“Merci.” Hermione accepted the glass, her throat clearly dry from all the nervousness. She finished it slowly, using it as an excuse to avoid talking. Meanwhile a waiter in white apron came and stood by their table. He handed her a menu.

“Please do the honours.” Alexis offered.

Hermione finished the water and checked the menu card. Like most cafés, they had hot, cold and bakery items. “Two scoops of Dulce de Leche, please.” She told the waiter, feeling the need of something to keep her head cool.

“And a caffè latte for me.” Alexis didn’t even glance at the menu and said. The waiter nodded and left. Hermione, waiting for the ice cream and coffee to arrive, looked around the café. The place was pretty well decorated with half a hundred colourful votive candles floating in the air and casting a golden aura around them. An accordion was playing by itself in a corner; the music was cheerful, like the air around her.

“I hope you won’t grudge me for making you late, Jean.” Alexis said checking the watch.

“No. It’s fine.” Hermione said, deliberately keeping her eyes off the man and on the other diners. She would be damned if she gaped at Alexis like that again. “Actually you are right. I am really tired. I had a very busy day. Today was the last day of the workshop on Cursed Diamonds and they showed us a lot of things. Before that I took Adrian to Planckendael Zoo. It’s a zoo in Antwerp. They have a nice collection of rhinos, bison, and antelope. Needless to say, it was Edmound’s suggestion.”

“It must be really very hard for women.” Alexis commented thoughtfully, “I mean they have to manage both their home and work. For men, we can work outside and return home, expecting a nice supper and a warm bed.”

“No, it’s not always that.” Hermione said, glad that they were talking about a casually safe topic. “My dad helped my mum in housework. They are both dentists and were very busy. But dad never expected mum to do all the housework alone. So, I think it depends on one’s partner’s willingness to help the other.”

“Your parents were great people.” Alexis smiled gently and the waiter arrived, serving them with coffee and ice cream. Hermione tasted hers. The Dulce de Leche was fine, superb actually, the taste of caramel nicely blended with cream. With dentists as parents, she never liked ice creams that were too sweet or sugary.

“So are you here for the Flower Carpet Festival?” She asked the most nagging question at last.

“No. I have a more important work to do.” Alexis replied simply, taking a sip from his coffee, “But I guess I can spare an hour for the famous carpet too.” he smiled.

“Wh…sorry…where are you staying?” Hermione almost choked over her ice cream. What was Alexis’s important work, actually?

“Not at the Palace Hotel.” Alexis replied. “Ministry workers have their own place to stay when they visit a foreign country. I am staying at their quarters.”

It didn’t occur to Hermione to ask Alexis when he would be leaving, with them or separately. She had a strong feeling that Eva and Gabrielle were behind his sudden visit and therefore returned to her safe occupation: eating ice cream and watching the other diners.

But soon she started regretting it. The couple sitting beside their table was holding hands and the woman was playing tricks into tempting the man to kiss her. Hermione felt her ears getting hot and shifted her gaze to the glass window. She saw Alexis’s reflection on it. He was examining the floating candles with earnest interest.

 _‘You know my brother, Jean. He never speaks his mind. It is in his eyes.’_ Gabrielle’s voice spoke inside her head again. Hermione’s eyes moved down Alexis’s features: his eyes…nose…lips. Somehow, her eyes focused on his lips.

Hermione recalled her kiss with Ron. It was strange that she remembered every second, every little detail of that short kiss but not the lips of the man she has loved so ardently. Ron’s lips were…Hermione blinked. Merlin! She could no longer remember how Ron’s lips looked like. But she could see Alexis’s. Clearly. They didn’t look very…she cleared her throat mentally…sexy. In fact, Alexis’s lips were far from being attractive. Like the rest of his feature, his lips too were very solemn and thoughtful. There was no lewd look on them. Then they twisted into a kind smile. Somehow Alexis’s smile reminded her of another one. The woman she had met in the Muggle superstore. She too smiled like Alexis did: gentle and assuring.

“Josée Laval!” Hermione blurted out, not knowing why she remembered that name.

“Pardon?” Alexis asked, confused.

“There was a woman I met…in…in a shop.” Hermione said vaguely, “Her name was Josée Laval.”

“Josée Laval?” Alexis repeated, a frown between his black eyebrows, “ _Josée Laval_ , Jean?”

“Ye…ah.” Hermione stammered. What was wrong with her? She was here to have a scoop of ice cream. Then why was she talking about a complete stranger to Alexis? Was it because of the nervousness? Or was it the Aureus Gold? Or was it something that she didn’t know herself?

“Are you sure her name was Josée Laval?” Alexis asked solemnly.

“Yeah, she said so.” Hermione replied, wondering why was it such a big deal for Alexis if someone’s name was Josée Laval. “Well, why is it so astonishing? Can’t a person have that name?”

“Of course, she can.” Alexis replied calmly, “I just happen to know a woman of the same name. Josée Laval, daughter of Pierre Laval, the famous Minister of Magic. He led France during the regime of Lord Voldemort.”

“The one I met, Alexis,” Hermione was determined to pull herself together and not sit like a mannequin, “could never be the Minister’s daughter. She was a Muggle woman.”

“I thought so too.” Alexis said, his features thoughtful. “Because the Josée Laval I told you about died many years ago. In fact she is…” he trailed away and sighed, “Leave it, Jean. You know, I kind of find it really strange that we lived under the same roof for almost six and half years and never talked about casual things.” He said, sipping his coffee, “I guess that’s the reason why you are so silent now.”

“No…um…” Hermione didn’t know what to say. Indeed they have never talked about casual things.

“Let’s talk about something and have this ice melted.” Alexis offered, “I know I’ll sound like a foolish to ask this to an Englishwoman, Jean, but have you read _Orgueil et Préjugés_?”

“Pride and Prejudice?” Hermione asked, now feeling at ease. Books were her favorite topic and she could talk about them for hours without getting tired. “Yes, I have. It’s a novel by Jane Austen and it’s one of my favourites. Don’t tell me you have read it too.”

“It so shamefully happens…” Alexis looked down at the coffee, “…I have. My roommates laughed at me, of course. They said novels are for girls and this was a _Muggle_ writer’s novel.”

“Oh, come on! That’s so silly!” Hermione prodded the ice cream a little too hard and it broke into pieces, “Novels are for _girls_? Rubbish! Actually your roommates were hypocrites who never knew to appreciate a good thing.”

“I guess so.” Alexis nodded, looking up at Hermione, “And who is favourite character?”

“In Pride and Prejudice?” Hermione considered the question. “Er…mostly people love Lizzi...for her strong personality and courage…her honesty with herself and others…her simple little pleasures…little dreams…” she said thoughtfully, “…and yes, her walks…” she added.

“Like when she walked to Netherfield to see Jane?” Alexis asked, showing genuine interest.

“Yeah and that look of horror on Bingley’s sister’s face!” Hermione spooned some ice cream and nodded, “ _My goodness, did you see her hem, Mr. Darcy? Six inches deep in mud!_ ” She quoted and laughed.

Alexis watched Hermione laugh and then broke into a laugh. Suddenly they were like two kids laughing carelessly, with no ice of silence holding them back.

“And what about every lady’s dream man, Darcy?” He asked once they composed their faces as a few diners were staring at them. The kissing couple was giving them a very disapproving look.

“Not _every_ lady’s dream.” Hermione corrected Alexis, “I like Colonel Brandon more. He is so sophisticated…a dedicated man. Darcy is just…you know…too quiet.”

“Sense and Sensibility?” Alexis it seemed has read almost all the books that Hermione has. “But isn’t he too old for Marianne?”

“Age differences matters, of course, but not if the man is sensible.” Hermione opined, “Everyone thought Willoughby was perfect for Marianne; he was handsome, well mannered, established and young. But he wasn’t a sensible man; never realized Marianne’s true love. For him, women were like toys, and ladders to reach the High Society.”

“So in men, you admire loyalty?” Alexis asked, his features pensive.

“Yes, loyalty and a certain degree of respect for women.” Hermione replied, sensing the sudden change in Alexis’s tone. “Not for every woman, of course, because I know that’s not possible even for the greatest man. But they should at least treat them as humans.”

“I think they are interrelated.” Alexis commented, “If you don’t consider someone as a human being, how can you be loyal to him or her?”

“Yeah, I agree.” Hermione nodded and finished her scoops, “…Er…Alexis…I think we are getting late.” She checked the watch, “Adrian must be waiting for me.”

“I think he’ll not complain if his Mama returns a little late with two generous scoops of best chocolate ice cream.” Alexis said and waved at the waiter who appeared immediately. “Can I have a large box of chocolate chips and raspberry ice cream?”

“Yes sir.” The waiter nodded and left. Feeling apprehensive, Hermione looked outside the window. It was clear to her now that he has been building this friendly atmosphere with something in his mind; ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and ‘Sense and Sensibility’ was all a part of that.

“Am I annoying you Jean?” Alexis’s question brought her to reality. Looking at him, she saw that his coffee was almost finished.

“No.” she shook her head. What was there to worry about, actually? If Alexis had something to say and came all this way for it, it was better that he finished saying it. Why should she be so agitated?

“I believe we both know that I am here to tell you something.” Alexis finished his coffee and carefully placed the cup on the saucer. “If you are uncomfortable with me or my talking, please tell me. I’ll stop. I value our family relationship more than anything in this world.”

“No, it’s okay.” Hermione said calmly though her heart beat quickened.

“You know Francis Bacon?” Alexis’s next question threw her off guard.

 “Ye…ah…” Hermione blinked rapidly, “He was an English philosopher and critic.”

Alexis’s long finger played absentmindedly around the rim of the empty coffee cup. “He once said ‘Wives are young men's mistresses, companions for middle age, and old men's nurses.’ Do you agree with him?”

“I…er…” Hermione wondered how it was related with what she was thinking he was going to tell her, “Well, it might be the norm in his time. But times have changed.”

“Has it?” Alexis asked, his black eyes on Hermione.

“Well the society is still very hypocrite when it comes to treating woman.” Hermione admitted. In fact who knew better than her?

“It’s not society, Jean. It’s individual mindset. It’s how we men are _conditioned_ to see our partners.” Alexis said, “Like Pureblood supremacy, elf rights, and status of Muggles, this is an idea that is planted in our minds when we are young. We see our mothers as our fathers’ partners, nurses, and companions. But how many of us have seen their _fathers_ as their mothers’ partners, nurses or companions? Almost no one. Maybe you saw it because your father helped your mother in every step. It was _his_ mindset, Jean but that is not the entire population’s mindset.”

Hermione listened in rapt attention. It certainly wasn’t what she had expected from their little detour meeting.

“I have three incredibly beautiful women in my life; my mother and my sisters: Fleur and Gabrielle.” Alexis went on, “I have Veela cousins who would be glad to be betrothed to me. But that is not what I am looking for. I am not looking for a mistress, a nurse or a woman to carry my children.” He shook his head, “I am looking for someone with a strong personality, courage… honesty with herself and others…simple little pleasures…little dreams…and yes, walks…” his black eyes were fixed on Hermione’s chocolate brown pair, “Can you suggest someone like that to me…” he said, “…Except Elizabeth Bennet.”

“I…” Hermione opened her mouth but no sound came out.

“I never saw you that way, Jean…” Alexis’s told her the truth Gabrielle told three nights ago. “You were the first person I met who stood up for someone she loved from her heart, her baby. She fought the entire world and the fate to have him...and by doing so she earned my respect. She can never be used as a toy, as a bed partner; she is above that.”

“But I…” Hermione’s voice was half broken.

“Don’t love me. I know that.” Alexis said calmly. “But I am not asking you to love me. It’s not possible; you can’t make someone love you. All I am asking, imploring you, Jean, why I came all this way, here in Brussels, to tell is that you give _us_ a thought. Please?”

“But…you…” Hermione shook her head, not knowing why Alexis’s words have moved her so much, as if he has seen right into her damaged soul, “…I can’t give you anything…I have nothing…”

“Do you trust my judgment?” Alexis didn’t look remotely alarmed by her words, as Gabrielle had been.

“I do.” Hermione replied honestly.

“Then trust my judgment this time.” Alexis said calmly, “I am not here to ask something from you, Jean. Long term relationships don’t work on just giving and taking. Fleur didn’t marry Bill because he could satisfy her needs. Gabrielle didn’t choose Edmound because he is a macho man.” he smiled, “Oh yes, she told us about them and that’s why I came here, to break the misunderstandings. Otherwise you’ll think it’s a matchmaking scheme that my esteemed mother and dear sisters hatched and not _actually_ me.”

Hermione couldn’t deny that she had been thinking that while sitting here. But now it was all over. Alexis has explained things very simply. It was almost like the ending of Pride and Prejudice when all misunderstandings were cleared.

“You are so much like Darcy, Alexis.” she said and the ice cream package arrived just at time. Adrian certainly wasn’t going to complain about his mother’s delay; the chocolate chips and raspberry ice cream looked so tempting to Hermione.

“And you don’t like him.” Alexis said ruefully.

“Maybe this Elizabeth will think a little more kindly about this Darcy.” Hermione said, leaving her seat. Alexis paid the bills, took the ice cream package and followed her.

“Thanks Nostradamus, you didn’t say _Percy_.” He said, as the café door swung open for them.

For the first time since that night in the balcony, Hermione truly laughed. Its ringing sound washed away some of the stains she carried in her heart.

Walking along side Alexis to the Palace Hotel, she looked up at the sky. Suddenly it was beautiful, its blackness matching that of Alexis’s eyes and its vastness that of his broad mind.

Life was beautiful.

Only one has to look for its beauties.

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

    


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16: Mirrors and Morals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this writing.  
> Thanks to everyone for comments, bookmarks, kudos and votes. Please let them keep coming.
> 
> Acknowledgement: The poem used on this chapter was taken from the website, ‘ThePoeticUnderGround’.
> 
> Warning: The Poisoned Apple is a story for mentally mature adults. There are and will be materials in it, that requires thorough knowledge of human body, mind and relationships between them. Readers discretion is required and please don’t read the story for some kind of sick time pass or fun.

 

** Chapter 16: Mirrors and Morals. **

**T** here was hardly any girl who walked on this planet and hadn’t come across at least one fairy tale in her life where the princess lived ‘happily ever after’ with her prince charming in a castle. Whether it was the accepted social norm on how women should be brought up: playing with dolls and dreaming a nice little happy family of her own, or something in the double X genes that they inherited, Hermione didn’t know, but for some arguably unfortunate reasons she never grew up with such dreams where she’d have a Prince Charming and end up living ‘happily ever after’ in a fairy tale castle.

Reared by dentist parents in the heart of England, London, Hermione Jean Granger, from the very early years of her life dreamt of being someone who’d do some good to this world. With bushy brown curls, plain brown eyes and rather large front teeth, she was never considered a beauty by conventional rules. She didn’t have numerous boys dying on her nor did it matter. She was confident of her abilities and goals; in short, she had the brain. Her Prince Charming was a lanky redhead who had dirt on his nose when they had first met. He and his large family lived in a house not very grand, nor very graceful. They didn’t have much money but their hearts were big, they stood by what they believed was right and was ready to lay down their lives for it.

Hermione, when choosing her life partner, couldn’t ask for more from a man. She might not end up living ‘happily ever after’ with Ron Weasley; they were as opposites as two poles of a magnet. But happiness was not powered roots of asphodel that one could measure in a brass scale and add to a brew of Successful Marriage Potion. Happiness was a subjective concept, an idea perceived differently by each individual. For Hermione, a little amount happiness in a little home with Ron Weasley was enough. But that was before the Malfoy earthquake hit her and like Dorothy of The Wizard of Oz, she was uprooted from her family and homeland. With nothing but a little life that was as helpless as she, growing inside her, Hermione Granger tried to collect the pieces of her shattered dreams and started anew. Losing hope was not in her dictionary.

Six years has passed since that turbulent phase of her life. Today Hermione Granger was loving mother to an immensely talented boy named Adrian. She was the first Female Curse Breaker in the history of Gringotts. She was a successful executor many other roles, which if stated, could make anyone envious. But behind that golden mask of glory stood a woman: alone in a platform, waiting for the right train to take her home.

The night of 11th August has finally fallen in Brussels. With only two days left to the end of her tour and what happened just a few hours ago, Hermione was sitting in the balcony staring at the sky, her eyes sleepless. For the first time since leaving Ron behind, she was seriously thinking about another man. Was she being unfaithful to the memories of her first love?

Following their little detour chat in Café Blanc, Alexis has accompanied Hermione to The Palace Hotel and surprised everyone. It was not clear who was more shocked, Gabrielle or Edmound, for both had stared at the Junior Undersecretary for a full long minute. Their trance broke when Adrian screamed loudly and came running to Alexis, jumping into the outstretched arms of his favourite uncle. As speculated, he didn’t complaint at all for his mother being late when she gave him two generous scoops of chocolate chips and raspberry ice cream with the prior promise of being a good boy and taking a little dose of Pepperup Potion before he went to bed. By that time, Edmound has recovered from the shock. Alexis, like the gentleman he was, enquired on his health and they talked like old times. Soon they were chatting like a large happy family. Taking advantage of the opportunity, a slightly apprehensive Edmound asked Alexis if he could take Gabrielle on a boat ride the next day. The latter only nodded once, looking completely fine with his sister’s choice.

As they talked on various topics, Hermione sat silently in a corner, watching Adrian as he sat on Alexis’s lap and told him about the Drawing Competition, the statue of the Peeing Boy, the old lady he helped to buy some chocolates and the story about the good squid of Hogwarts Lake. In the end, to the great surprise of his avid listener, Adrian recited the poem he had made for Hermione and Alexis, astonishingly, joined in.

_Mama! Mama! Mama!_

_I love my Mama!_

_I have red pajama!_

_And I looooove my Mama!_

Hermione knew Alexis wasn’t flirting with her but somehow with them reciting the poem together, even though he didn’t alter a single word, she just couldn’t help but blush richly. She couldn’t deny the fact that Alexis and Adrian looked pretty good as father and son. On the former’s part there was no artificial or public display of affection. It wondered her how or why she never noticed it: their love, their mutual understandings, and their silent communication. Unlike Edmound, Alexis never forgot one reference, one piece of information that Adrian had told him about, even once. From the names of his friends, to the places he loved to visit, number of his colouring pencils he owned, his favourite T-shirt, or every single gift he had received on last five birthdays, Alexis knew and remembered everything, accurately. Later they dined and Alexis returned to his quarters, with the promise to be present for the breakfast and visit the statue of the Peeing Boy with Adrian. Eva and Gabrielle, to Hermione’s immense relief, didn’t bombard her with questions about Alexis and returned to their respective bed chambers to retire for the night while she put her son to sleep.

As Hermione sat and replayed the evening’s little chat inside her head again and again, it started to rain. She reached out and touched the little drops of life. Yes, life was so beautiful! One only had to look for the beauties. Until yesterday, she had Adrian, Eva and Edmound, a nice and challenging job and the Delacours. Now a new addition to that list has been made: Alexis Delacour. Like rain drops that washed away dirt and taints from leaves and flowers, his words have washed away some of those that she carried on her soul. Would he be able to heal her, like Eva said, and bring back her trust on men?

Hermione honestly didn’t know what it was about that man that has caught her attention. Looks? Definitely not. Yes, Alexis was handsome than Ron but it hardly mattered to her. She was never a big fan of just looks. She was not Cho Chang.

Was it social status then? It could be. Both Alexis and the Delacours were established. They had a very good reputation in the Wizarding society. But was that enough to accept his proposal? After all, she too was well established and didn’t run after family status.

Was it education then? Or his good manners? Or idealistic attitude for life? Hermione truly didn’t know. But for the first time since leaving Ron and the dreams of her life behind, she felt the flickers of a rekindled hope, the hope of a beautiful future. Yes, she didn’t love Alexis. In fact, she barely knew him as a man. If she was asked to write down a paragraph on him, it wouldn’t even reach the bottom of the page, so impoverished was her knowledge of him. On the other hand, Alexis seemed to know everything about her and Adrian. At the café, he had perceived her uneasiness very well, he knew the kid’s favourite flavour of ice cream, he has taught him mathematics while Hermione was at work and that was just the tip of the iceberg. Opportunities given, he’d do more, with no expectations from her, she knew. But was his love, his dedication for them enough for a lifetime of commitment? Did Hermione have anything to give him in return?

She remembered what Alexis said on the matter: long term relationships didn’t work on just giving and taking and he wasn’t looking for a mistress, a nurse or a woman who’d bear his children. Alexis might not have clearly and openly used the famous phrase of ‘I love you’ to express his feelings for her but what he had said, conveyed more. Sophisticated attitudes aside, what mattered to Hermione most was that Alexis loved Adrian. Her little son, too, loved him. But was that enough to have a good father and son relationship? Or would Adrian feel lonely if she had more kids with Alexis?

Hermione remembered her mother, Adeline. She lived in Australia as Monica Wilkins and believed herself to be a childless woman. The only comfort of her life was her husband, Wendell. Together, they were helping each other to cope up with the immense loneliness of not having a kid. Hermione’s son, too, would grow up one day and eventually go on pursuit of his own life. Would she, the woman Hermione, be able to live alone for the rest of her life? Now that she looked, she saw two women facing each other; on one side stood a woman with long neglected dreams and wounds that needed healing and on another, stood a mother who was committed to her only child and would do anything to see him happy. Whom should she choose? The mother or the woman? What if their dreams collided and Adrian was left with nothing?

Hermione sighed and leaving the rain to pour, returned to her bed chamber, deep in thoughts. Adrian was slowly stirring in his sleep. Watching his red pajamas, she remembered the poem he had made for her. It was funny, it was innocent, it was innovative but most importantly, it was with love that her son had made that poem for his mother. Smiling, she sat beside the sleeping form on the bed and watched him.

There was something about Adrian when he slept: he looked more innocent and his eyes didn’t entirely close. Instead the upper lid would remain fraction of an inch away from the lower lid and the grey iris of his innocent eyes would be visible like the sliver of a moon.

Leaning forward, Hermione kissed on Adrian’s little forehead. Strangely it was on a rainy night of early January that the boy was born. Apolline had wrapped his little form in a white towel and handed him to Hermione. Trembling, crying and smiling, she had taken the little bundle, kissed softly on her newborn son’s forehead and welcomed him to this world. Since that day, she has lived embracing this one life to her heart. Adrian was the best hope she had. Adrian was the last hope she had.

“Mama had such pain, Adrian, mama had such hatred!” She whispered tearfully into his ears, knowing that he would never hear it, “I thought I would go mad. I thought I would die from agony…but then…I found someone more helpless than I was. It was you! You were tiny. You were innocent…and I couldn’t kill you…I couldn’t kill you…” she gasped, placing her forehead over Adrian’s and shedding silent tears, “Now when I look at you, I forget everything…I forget my pains…my agony…my hatred. Now if I live, I live for you; I breathe for you and I’ll die for you. You are the reason I am living Adrian. You are my new life!”

Hermione cried for a long time that night, her tears meeting thousand others that she had shed secretly at night or when no one was watching. It rolled down her cheek and amassed into a fathomless sea, a stormy sea with a grey cloud in a corner of the sky. The sea was Hermione. The sky was Alexis and the grey cloud was…

•••••

Draco Malfoy was staring unblinkingly at the goblet before him. It was half filled with Headache Potion, some of which he has consumed in last half an hour. His eyes were red and his slivery blonde hair, unkempt. He was currently lying on his left side, with his lower arm extended and feeling Adrian’s white shirt in between his fingers. The faint scent of his innocent son could still reach his sensitive nostrils. It helped him to calm down; it helped him to lay still.

Draco closed his eyes, trying to quell the anger that was threatening to erupt any moment. It was one of those very rare occasions when he was enraged beyond any kind of reasoning. The last time he had felt the same was when his mother was attacked by a filthy Mudblood in her own home. He had saved her and punished the Mudblood, in a way that was unacceptable even to his own eyes. But he couldn’t be blamed for it on himself. How dare that Mudblood even consider touching his pureblood mother let alone kill her? She needed to be punished and so was she, treated accordingly.

Draco, his eyes still closed, brought Adrian’s shirt close to his nose and breathed into his scent. It was so unfair, so cruel and painful to see him in the arms of other men who were not his father. Yes, he had sneaked into the Mudblood’s suite once again, with the sole intent to watch his son and collect some hair from that moron, Edmound, to use them in impersonating him. He needed a mean, a face to take Adrian to a ride across that blasted flower whatever those damned Muggles were making on the Grand-Place.

But this evening it seemed as if all the Delacours have popped up from ground and gathered in the filthy Mudblood’s suite. Draco was standing in a corner and watching his little son solve some riddles when the Mudblood entered the suite with a new man in the tow. This one had black hair and black eyes. As soon as he walked in, Adrian jumped out of his seat, ran and jumped into the arms of the stranger. He called him uncle Alexis and kissed him twice on each cheek for bringing his favourite flavour of ice cream, which Draco learned was Chocolate chips with raspberry.  He stood there, motionless and watched as his son sat and chatted happily with the bloody bellend Alexis. Keen to avoid the outburst of his very thin nerves, he left the place and returned to his suite, boiling from unprecedented anger.

Draco gritted his teeth. Hermione Granger! That worthless whore!  That useless damned bint! How many of those men who visited her was she regularly sleeping with? Judging by the expensive suite she was staying at, the money must have come from one of her generous customers who had decided to keep his courtesan happy. If she were not Adrian’s mother, Draco would have cursed her then and there and raped her once again to give her some real flavour of men.

So immersed was he in his wrathful thoughts that he didn’t notice when someone walked into his bedchamber. The person came to stand beside him, picked up the goblet of Headache Potion from the nightstand and shook her head with a sad sigh.

“Draco…” she leaned over the seemingly sleeping man and said softly. Next thing she knew saw was the goblet flying out of her hand and landing on the white shirt he was cuddling like a baby.

Draco’s eyes flew open and he saw as the red liquid stained his son’s white shirt. “You dumb bitch…that shirt is more worth than you are…” He screamed in fury and picked up his wand ready to curse the offender to oblivion only to find Audré standing before him, looking like an ice statue.

“Aunt…” Draco’s jaw dropped. Unbeknownst to himself, he had hit her hand, caused the goblet to fly out and land on his son’s shirt.

Audré didn’t utter a word. She simply stared at him for one long moment and then turned, leaving his suite without a backward glance. Draco sat on his bed, appalled by his own actions. How was he going to explain this to her?

After almost five minutes, senses start to creep back in him and he looked down at the shirt he was still holding. The area around the heart was stained with red now, making it look like blood. Draco gulped. Horrific memories of Scorpius lying dead came back and hit him like a giant sea wave. Before he knew, Draco has mounted his broom and kicked off. He was going to check if his last living son was alright.

To his extreme annoyance, he found the Mudblood sitting in the balcony of her suite and all the available windows closed. Under the Disillusionment Charm, he watched her for a while. She seemed immersed in her own thoughts. Memories of the evening came flooding by and Draco wondered if he should stupefy her and enter the suite by force to check on Adrian. It was Audré’s word of caution that stopped him. It wouldn’t do any good if he got caught and was thrown into prison. The Mudblood would be alerted and disappear with his last heir.

Like a sleepless soul, Draco hovered over the balcony, trying to get a glimpse of his son. The curtains of the bedchamber were drawn, thus making it impossible for him to peep through the windows. Noiselessly, he changed his position several times but was met with no luck. Then it started to rain. Fearful that his form might become noticeable since he was still solid, Draco, on his broom, hid behind a balustrade. He got completely drenched in the rain and yet he didn’t move an inch. He wasn’t leaving until he has seen Adrian with his own eyes.

He returned to his suite, three quarter of an hour later after he saw his son sleeping peacefully, clad in his favourite red pajamas. His clothes were soaking; even his undergarments were wet. But he had such a peace of mind that it didn’t hurt him at all when he collided with a table, fell down and passed out.

•••••

It was not in the nature of Audré Chombrun Malfoy to forgive and forget, especially when the person in question was related to Lucius Malfoy. That man, with his filthy and slithery means has destroyed her domestic peace and reputation in the society. She and her husband were forced to live the life of an outcast for a very long time until Morpheus Malfoy was elected the Chief Warlock for his wisdom and eloquence. All these years, Audré had bore down with the social stigmata her family had gone through, only for the sake of her children and never sought to take revenge on their uncle’s family. But that certainly didn’t mean that she was going to stand Draco’s nonsense mood swings.

After that little chat with Jean Granger in the Muggle superstore Audré had been keeping an eye on her nephew. The man was slightly deranged when it came to Adrian. With what she had learned from Jean about her past, her assumptions were correct. Jean Granger was an English woman who received her magical education at Hogwarts. She must have come across Draco there, though it was not clear how they ended up having Adrian without the father’s knowledge. Whatever happened between them, she chose not to disclose her pregnancy and left the country to give birth and raise the child without the Malfoys even knowing that they had a spare heir.

As for Draco, it was as clear as daylight that he was angry with Jean for some reason which he wouldn’t confide in with Audré, no matter how much he claimed that he trusted her. For a lawyer like her, this secrecy of her nephew spoke a lot for itself. She had been wrong in suspecting that Lucius had taken his son’s seed and inoculated Jean with it to save their precious bloodline should Voldemort kill them all. No. Jean was not being used as a breeding machine. If that were the case, Narcissa would have summoned the spare heir right after all three of her grandsons died. But she was the one who couldn’t believe Draco’s claims of having another son until Audré confirmed it.

So what was it that Draco was hiding from her? Why was he so angry with Jean? The woman was raising his son better than he could ever do. What could be the solid grounds based on which he hated the mother of his only living son so passionately?

Audré sighed. This game was becoming more and more interesting with every passing moment. She knew a confession from Draco would soon follow but that didn’t mean she couldn’t investigate the matter privately. Thus far she had three solid facts at hand:

One: Draco was aware of how Adrian was conceived though he didn’t know of his existence until they met.

Two: Jean knew Draco and was keen to have her son raised away from him.

Three: There was a woman named Fleur Delacour who could provide them with more information.  

It was third point that intrigued her the most. Fleur Delacour. She had heard that name Delacour somewhere. Where was it? Where was it? She tapped thoughtfully on her chin.

Like a flash of lightening across the dark stormy sky, Audré remembered it. The answer had been before her eyes since this evening. Her nephew hadn’t parted with his Protean Charmed mirror in last three days. He had been listening to it day and night, night and day, like one listened to his father’s last will and testimony in the hope of receiving some property, and jabbed down the few facts that he had collected on Adrian. It was only on this evening that he finally left the mirror, and sneaked into Adrian’s suite with the plan to procure Edmound’s hair to use it in the Polyjuice and take his son for a ride, Audré knew. In his absence, she took the mirror and sat down to listen to what was happening in Jean Granger’s suite.

She had been quite enjoying Adrian’s tender and sweet voice as he read aloud several puzzles and riddles and solved them. The kid was too talented to be considered a five and half year old boy. Then someone came in and he screamed loud, calling that someone ‘Uncle Alexis’. If Audré assessed it right, this Alexis was the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of magic, Alexis Delacour.

Now she knew where she had heard the name Delacour. Julian, her son, sometimes talked about a man in the Ministry who didn’t much like Quidditch. Being a big fan of the famous Wizarding sport himself, Julian curled his lips every time he mentioned Delacour or Alexis Delacour.

So Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour was Alexis Delacour’s sister? Interesting. Very interesting.

Audré summoned a piece of parchment and quill from the writing table and sat down to draft a letter. If Fleur Delacour had helped Jean to escape the Malfoys, there was no way she, Audré Chombrun _Malfoy,_ could earn her trust to make her divulge the truth about Jean. She must use someone whom Fleur trusted or obeyed. Audré knew very well who that someone could be.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked, the night outside became darker and deeper. Then it started to rain. Audré’s hand moved across the parchment as she wrote a letter to an old friend of hers and Morpheus: Olympe Maxime.

Maxime and they, Audré and Morpheus, had joined the Ministry on the same time. Then she was elected as the Headmistress of Beauxbatons while Audré and her husband moved to the judicial branch, the Civil and Criminal Courts of wizards, more commonly known as the Wizengamot. Regardless of their professional fields, the old tie was still pretty strong for Maxime had some Giant blood in her vein and realized very well what social stigma was. She  was going to take her help in taming Fleur Delacour.

Audré finished the letter and sealed it, placing it on the Postal Service tray from where it would be collected and posted to the intended person. She rubbed her eyes and picked up the mirror for one last time. Tomorrow morning she knew Draco would come to apologize to her for his rudeness. It was just a matter of time. This Malfoy was a cunning fellow who knew how much he needed his clever aunt’s help in order to succeed in his sloppy plans. If Audré were a bad person or someone like the Malfoys were, she could have used it as a possible excuse to blackmail her nephew in confessing what he was hiding from her. But no. She wasn’t that cheap. She was Audré and she could find her own answers if she wanted.

Someone was talking or better say whispering on the other side of the mirror. It sounded like sobs. Audré brought the mirror closer to her ear and strained. She recognized the voice as Jean Granger’s who was confessing.

 _“Mama had such pain, Adrian, mama had such hatred! I thought I would go mad. I thought I would die from agony…but then…I found someone more helpless than I was. It was you! You so tiny! You were innocent…you were inside me…and I couldn’t kill you…I couldn’t kill you…”_ she gasped, _“Now when I look at you, little rabbit, I forget everything…I forget my pains…my agony…my hatred. Now if I live, I live for you; I breathe for you and I’ll die for you. You are the reason I am living Adrian. You gave me a new life!”_

Audré sat, thunderstruck. Was the woman talking to her sleeping son the same one she had seen as happy and confident? Were those words or agonizing screams of a broken soul that asked for salvation? What pain did Jean Granger have to make her cry like that at the dead of night? What hatred was making her life difficult? Why would she even consider killing her precious baby, someone for whom she left her country? What happened between her and Draco? _What_ did he do to her?

Had her nephew not screamed at her just a few hours ago, Audré had put him under wand point and made him confess every last bit of truth he was holding back. There was no point in chasing wild goose in England when the entire gaggle was seating and basking in the sun. She was Audré and nothing was impossible for her.

Her mouth bitter from what she has just heard, Audré put aside the mirror and sat still, waiting for the morning to arrive when someone knocked on her suite door.

Audré turned her head to the closed door, wondering if she should answer it personally. There was no doubt in her mind who was the late night visitor. Draco. Her damned nephew must have decided to apologize to his aunt before the morning. Even better. Now she was going to coerce him to spit out everything about him and Jean.

“Come in.” she bade, with supreme calm and composure. The door opened, and while she was expecting a blonde man to slip in, a bald and slightly alarmed looking Monsieur Leopold walked in.

“I am very sorry to disturb your sleep Madame…” the hotel manager halted on his speech when he noticed that Audré was fully dressed, “Madame…we have an emergency situation here. One of our night cleaning stuffs just informed me that your nephew, Monsieur Malfoy, was found unconscious in his suite. He seems to have passed out long ago. I thought to inform you before taking him to St. Waltrude.”

Whatever Audré had in her mind prior to that news was suddenly erased from her thoughts. Draco was ill, Narcissa has entrusted him to her and she couldn’t fail on her promise no matter what her personal feelings for him was. Her coercing could wait till that.

“I am coming.” Audré said and without backward glance at the mirror, left her suite.

•••••

Morning light was slowly pouring in through the thin veil of curtains. Like little drops of light they floated around her, creating an enchanting atmosphere.

Hermione breathed in. The air was fragrant with the sweet scent of begonias. For a summer day of mid August the temperature was pleasurably ambient: not too cool, not too hot. A little form was cuddling against her; his innocent scent of Peach and Honeysuckle reaching her nostrils, filling her, lifting up her spirit. When was the last time she felt this comfortable, she didn’t know. It was like sleeping on a cloud; careless, happy and contended, as it carried her, carried them lazily to the ever enchanting Neverland.

When she fell asleep, crying, Hermione couldn’t recall and who composed her body in its current position, she didn’t know. But somehow it didn’t matter. Her eyes still closed, she tried to remember the details of the beautiful dream she had been having just moments ago. Could she slip into it again?

It’s been a while since Hermione had dreamt something so simple, unique and meaningful. These days, she was continuously on Dreamless Sleep, meaning she wouldn’t dream anything at all, be they good or bad, while she slept. She had no complaints of course. Who’d want to relive the distorted and horrific versions of her rape? Who’d want to wake up, feeling her womb contracting painfully? Was that what people called orgasm? She neither knew nor was she willing to explore further. What mattered was that she was extremely shameful of her body, whenever she woke up and found her core was acting weird. She’d clamp her thighs together and lay still until the humiliating event was over. Later, feeling disgusted and repulsive, she’d slip out of the bed and check her underpants. Most of the times, there was nothing in it; sometimes, a thin layer of mucous could be seen, which was normal for females. Nauseated at the sight, she would burn the underpants, wash the ashes, take a hot bath and try to clean herself of the taints that one horrible incident had left. She’d scrub herself, again and again, and try to remind her body that it was actually being violated in those dreams and not given pleasure. That damned flesh and blood needed to understand, even though they had no brain of their own, that they were acting someway that was disgraceful and humiliating; that they needed to be stopped, even at the price of her not dreaming ever again.

Hermione pushed the unpleasant thoughts on the back of her mind and concentrated on the dream, the miraculous dream, she had been having just moments ago. To her, it was like finding a flower blooming on a field of stones, unexpected but pleasantly surprising. In that dream she was again standing in a forest. The sunlight was being filtered through the canopy of foliages, creating a green aura. The air was scented with the exotic perfumes of wild flowers and vines that wrapped themselves around the trees.

Hermione’s first thought was Jacob Jordeans. Was he going to come out of blue and try to take Adrian away? Fearful, she searched for her wand and unlike last time, found it easily. Holding it before her and on guard, she looked around, scanning her vicinity for a little rabbit; but there was none. Then sounds of someone laughing reached her keen ears.

Curious, Hermione followed the sound and soon found a little cottage, something kids came across in a fairy tale book. The large windows were thrown open and inside, she saw a man, a boy and a girl chatting happily, seating around a large kitchen table.  The man and the kids had a mop of flaming red hair. The kitchen they were sitting in looked like Bill and Fleur’s one with a scrubbed table, several wooden chairs and pots and pans hanging on the wall. Hermione came and stood by the kitchen window, keen for a better view. Was it Ron’s family? Was he finally married? Were these kids his? Who was their mother? Where was she?

Stowing the wand inside her robes and finally assured that the dream wasn’t about Jacob Jordeans taking Adrian away, Hermione walked around the little cottage. It was a modest one, something that she’d have loved as her own home. The walls were made of rough edged stones. There was a beautiful back garden, with herbs and medicinal plants. A river ran nearby. A little water well was placed in the front garden. All in all it was a place she could spend her life, without any complaints.

Hermione, after her round of the cottage was over, came to stand by the kitchen window again. The mother of the kids was still absent from the little group. For some strange reason, no matter how hard she tried, Hermione couldn’t discern their faces. All she could see was their red hair and nothing more. No eyes, no nose or facial features. It was like watching three faceless redheads talking.

The kids laughed at a joke the adult redhead made and for the first time, Hermione felt curious to learn their names. It might sound too farfetched but she, with the old habit of preparing everything in advance, had thought names of her kids with Ron. They would have the initials of their parents: R and H. Before Adrian, Hermione had always dreamt of having a cute little daughter first. She’d love her, pamper her and name her Rose, the R taken from her father’s name, Ronald. And if she had a son, which she certainly wouldn’t regret having, she’d name him Hugo, the H taken from her name, Hermione. R and H. Ron and Hermione. Rose and Hugo.

It could also be explained in another way that she, Hermione Granger, named her kids on the initials of her two best friends: Ron and Harry, R and H. Whatever it was, they would be named Rose and Hugo. That was until Adrian let her know of his presence inside her.

Hermione sighed, not in sadness but in nostalgia. Now that she looked back, those old golden days of her life seemed hundreds of years ago; as if it had all happened on a different timeline, on a different century. How long she stood by the open window and watched the man and the kids, she didn’t know. It was happy and sad at the same moment; happy because she no longer felt sad for not being a part of that redhead family and sad because she wasn’t aware of how the time has passed. Now she wasn’t curious to see who the kids’ mother was. She wasn’t jealous and resentful. She wasn’t angry. What was wrong? Did that mean that she no longer loved Ron? Was it all over then? Has the old Hermione died without her knowledge?

Hermione was about to leave them be when she felt someone gently slipping a hand into hers. Looking down she saw Adrian. He was smiling at her.

“Come Mama, we have our own home.” the little boy seemed to have perceived the true meaning behind his mother’s deep sigh. He tugged her hand. Hermione followed him silently.

They walked through the enchanted forest and after a while came out on a clearing. Hermione gasped, not believing her eyes. Was it a dream? Could it be true?

Hermione knew it was a dream, a lucid dream where the dreamer aware of dreaming. But somehow it couldn’t diminish her happiness in seeing what stood before her. The little house that Adrian had brought her to was the cottage of her dreams! Now that she thought, it was nothing compared to the one she has just left.

The cottage that she stood before and gaped at was built of a stone that glowed in the sunlight. It had a thatched roof with a pair of chimneys.  A lemon tree stood before the cottage, its branches hanging over and shading the little house on woods. It had a swing bound to it that rocked gently in the air. The leaded glass windows of the cottage were big and patterned in lace. The beautiful front garden had bounty of colours from roses, geranium, foxglove, fuchsia, and dahlia growing in abundance. Plants carpeted the ground between the stepping stones. The cottage was a feast to the eyes.

“Come, Mama! We are home!” Adrian piped happily, showing her the cottage. Whether it was the tears of joy or astonishment, Hermione didn’t know, but her vision blurred suddenly. Was this true? Was she finally home?

As she wiped her tears, she felt Adrian leave her hand and ran to a man who was standing before the cottage. He welcomed Adrian just as Alexis had, and rode him in his shoulders. He held out a hand for her. Mesmerized and not hesitating for a moment, Hermione reached out. Their hands were just inches away from touching each other when the dream broke.

This time, Hermione allowed her eyes to slowly open. No and as expected, she wasn’t standing before the cottage and Adrian wasn’t riding on the shoulders of a man she didn’t know but didn’t hesitate in accepting his hands. Instead, little Adrian was cuddling against his dear mother and fast asleep.

“Wake up, my little rabbit, wake up!” She whispered into his ears, deciding it was too late have a lie in. As always, Adrian stirred feebly, wrapped an arm around her neck and after a moment’s dillydallying, opened his eyes.

“Good morrrrrrrr…..nnnnnning!” he yawned and gave her a sleepy and toothy grin.

“Good morning, Mama’s love.” Hermione kissed on the tip of his little and pointed nose. This was her favourite way to playfully taunt the kid.

“Mama!” Adrian, as expected, cried loudly, “I am a man!” he wiped his nose clean, as if his manhood depended solely on the cleanliness of his little nose.

“I didn’t know that.” Hermione just loved it when Adrian defended his manhood and arched a skeptic eyebrow. “I thought you are my little rabbit.”

“I am your little rabbit.” Adrian admitted, his grey eyes round and honest, “But I am a man. The old lady at the shop called me a little gentleman. Remember?”

“Yes, I do.” Hermione replied wondering for the first time since that meeting why she remembered the woman, Josée Laval. What was it about her that struck her? Was it that smile of hers that was like Alexis’s? Or was it the fact that she had an Englishman husband?

“So, my dear little gentleman, did you sleep well?” Hermione asked, deciding to continue the happy chitchat with her son.

“I did!” Adrian grinned and declared happily. “I had a dream. It was verrrrrry good.”

“Really?” Hermione stroked the little boy’s curls, wondering how their lives matched. She too has had a very good dream, something to cherish forever. “Mama also had a good dream.” She stated with a smile.

“What was it?” Adrian asked hopefully. Hermione knew was he was thinking.

“It wasn’t about the good Hogwarts squid or Hafgufa.” She said kindly, carefully bypassing his childhood fantasies, “I just saw that we found our home, at last.” She added.

“Like the one I made in my drawing?” Adrian didn’t seem remotely disheartened that his mother hasn’t dreamt what he had expected her to and asked brightly “With you, me and my pa..” he stopped abruptly.

It was as if one was about to drink a glass of milk and a fly suddenly fell into it, spoiling the whole thing. Not a second has passed since the name of Malfoy was implied and suddenly her mood and mouth, both, were bitter. Hermione lied there, holding her son protectively in her arms and wondered would this nightmare of Malfoy ever end.

“I am sorry.” Adrian said in a small voice. “I know we are not talking about him. It hurts you.” he hugged her.

Whether it was sudden rush of tender affection or pain that always numbed her senses at the name of Malfoy, Hermione didn’t know, she hugged Adrian back and hid her face in his little curls. What a fool had she been to underestimate her son, his intelligence and observation powers! This five and a half year old boy was wonderfully mature for his own age. He understood her in a way no one could. But did he know why it hurt her to even mention the man’s name? Could he perceive why she was always keen avoid any discussion on him?

“Don’t worry, Mama, I’ll take care of you.” Adrian assured her in his own innocent and honest manners, “I am your man. I’ll make a home for you. You and I will live there. Happily.” He released Hermione from the tight hug and smiled, “We don’t need him. He left us.” He added simply.

“Yes, Mama’s man, we don’t need him. We are better without him.” Hermione ruffled Adrian’s messy curls and nodded, making her believe every single word of that truthful statement. “Now tell me about the dream you had.” she decided to move on to a safer topic.

“Ummmm…” Adrian blinked, as if trying to remember the ‘verrrrrrry good’ dream and Hermione watched him in awe. Not only Adrian was a very good looking little boy, something in his manners, his persona, and his demeanor charmed those who met him. It was true that he has inherited his father’s looks but to Hermione’s relief, not his malice and false pride. His grey eyes were clear as his conscience, tender as his soft heart and innocent as his entire being. They spoke for themselves.

“I saw that we all went to Hogwarts. You, me, uncle Edmound, Uncle Bill, Uncle Alexis, Aunt Eva, Aunt Fleur, Aunt Gabby, grandma, grandpa and Victoire.” Adrian counted all the eleven people on his fingers, “We met the good squid. He had lonnnngggggg tentacles.” He spread his arms wide, “He shook tentacles with us. Uncle Edmound and I gave him some chocolate ice cream. The good squid liked it a lot and ate in all. He said he’ll give the mermaids some ice cream.”

Hermione laughed. Just as her mood had taken a sudden downward steep curve, it was going up now. Hogwarts and Adrian, only these two could make her feel good even at the darkest of times.  She imagined the Hogwarts squid sharing a box of ice cream with the merpeople who carried spears to protect themselves from it. Did the squid know that his fame has spread to France? Was it still alive?

“Then I saw Monsieur Monette.” Adrian continued, smiling serenely, “He was crossing the lake. Suddenly he fell in the lake.” his eyes widened, “But he didn’t die. The good squid swam fast and saved him. Threw him back on the boat.” He finished with a flourish and another toothy grin.

Hermione had enjoyed the dream immensely except for the last bit where some Monsieur Monette butted in. She had no idea who this man was.

“Who is Monsieur Monette, rabitty boo?” She asked trying to recall if they had any family friend or neighbour by that name.

“You don’t know?” Adrian asked instead, looking astonished, “Monsieur Monette is my drawing teacher. He teaches me drawing every Monday and Wednesday.”

Hermione blinked twice before the full realization hit her: her son was taking drawing classes without her knowledge. For the first time since Adrian was born, she, his mother, didn’t know something this important about her only son and she was the kind of mother who knew how many times her son normally breathed. She gaped at Adrian for a split second, wondering if she should scold him severely for not informing her about the classes but then another realization dawned upon her. Her son was not alone in this and she knew the boy never kept secrets from his mother. No matter what happened, he’d always share it with her. So if he didn’t tell her about it until now, it must be because of someone who persuaded him to take the classes with the promise that she would be informed later.

“Mama, are you okay?” Hermione must have passed into a senseless trance when Adrian’s question brought her back to reality.

“Yes, my love! Mama is always okay.” She embraced him and smiled reassuringly, “So who takes my little rabbit to these drawing classes?” she asked conversationally.

“Uncle Alexis!” Adrian replied simply.

Alexis? _Alexis_ Delacour was taking her son to drawing classed without her knowledge and didn’t even bother to inform or ask her, for once? Hermione didn’t know how to react. That man, she knew, has seen and believed to be sensible enough to not act such. Even Edmound, whom Eva considered as one of the most thick-skulled and forgetful man in the world, would think twice before doing so.

“Little rabbit never told his dear Mama that he is going to drawing classes!” Hermione recovered from her shock and forced a smile.

“I wanted to!” Adrian cried, his eyes wide, “I told uncle Alexis to take you too. But he said that he’ll tell you later.”

“I see.” Suddenly, why Hermione didn’t know, her insides were burning and churning from unprecedented anger. With extreme patience she controlled her true emotions and left the bed, getting to prepare for the day. Alexis would be at the Palace Hotel for breakfast and she could probe the matter then.

How the next two hours passed away Hermione didn’t know. With each passing moment that brought her closer to the hour when Alexis would come for breakfast, she rehearsed inside her head, what she would be telling him for his conceited intrusion in their lives. Adrian was her son and not Alexis’s. He must remember that if he wanted to continue their family relationship. Yes, they looked good as father and son; in fact they looked perfect together. But that certainly didn’t mean that he could, whenever he liked, interfere in her and Adrian’s relationship.

Another possibility popped up in her mind and made her mouth go bitter. Was Alexis using Adrian to slowly win over her heart? Would all his love be gone if they got married and had more children? Incidents where a step-father lost interest in his step son weren’t something very unheard of. In fact, that was the most normal consequence. What a fool was she to believe those beautiful words about Alexis not looking for a mistress or nurse or woman to bear his children! He was a man and men never changed. All they wanted was sex. Now she could see the whole picture. Alexis was interested in her because she worked in a very high post and was unavailable to most men. It was a challenge upon his manhood to prove that he could win the iron knickered Hermione Jean Granger.

Unlike last few days, this morning Hermione chose to have their breakfast at the Dining Hall of the Palace Hotel. Adrian looked very happy with the prospect of an eventful day: he’d be visiting the Peeing Boy in the morning and the Flower Carpet at night. Hermione dressed him in a pair of Muggle jeans shorts and a red T-shirt with the picture of a burger on the front. With a matching blue cap, he immediately drew the attention of the diners when he walked into the Dining Hall beside his mother. Hermione’s other companions were on Muggle attire too; Eva and Gabrielle were wearing beautiful summer dresses. Even Edmound, whose dress sense was the level of a teaspoon, Hermione’s favourite measurement, was impeccably dressed as a Muggle tourist on a polo shirt and khaki shorts.

Hermione was about the scan the packed Dining Hall for an empty table when he spotted Alexis. He was waving at her, or them, and asking to join him on a table that had a good view of the swimming pool. Adrian immediately let go of her hand and ran for his favourite uncle. The rest of her companions followed him with Hermione bringing in the rear, looking calm and armed with her words and resolution. She was going to give Alexis a negative answer. Today. This morning. She wasn’t going to give _them_ a thought. There was no them and there never would be.

“The ladies look wonderful today.” Alexis said with a charming smile as soon as they settled down. Hermione neither knew nor cared if she looked as he claimed. She was wearing a plain blue dress and there was nothing wonderful about it. While the others thanked him politely, she only took a seat furthest from the clever Junior Undersecretary and scanned the menu.

The breakfast arrived and progressed as usual with everyone talking about their morning plans. Edmound was telling them that the river he was taking Gabrielle for a boat ride was habitat to the rarest species of Green Dart Poison frogs; their venom could kill human in an instant. Eva was rolling her eyes and giving Gabrielle a very sympathetic smile. Gabrielle, however, didn’t look remotely disheartened by the early demise of her romantic boat ride. She told them how the skin of Green Dart Poison frog was very valuable in making antidotes and boldly wrapped an arm around Edmound’s. It resulted in the latter choking on his coffee three times.

“Do you know that the mayor of Brussels is actually a Muggleborn wizard?”Alexis asked once the discussion about the poisoned frog was over. Hermione remained motionless while others shook their heads, evidently amazed.

“Brussels hosts the official seat of the European Union. It’s a transit to many major European cities.” The Junior Undersecretary was bragging his depth of knowledge on the Muggle politics of Europe. “Needless to say that the Belgian Ministry takes more caution to handle two streams of populations, the Muggles and us. You’ll see it when we go to the Flower Carpet Festival tonight.”

“Yeah, Jean told us something about going there separately.” Eva nodded, glancing and frowning at a silent Hermione. “She said that it’s better this way because most of us don’t dress well as Muggles.”

“Yes, she’s right.” Alexis gave Hermione a supportive nod, “There are also security reasons. After the Dark Mark incident at 1994 Quidditch World Cup, the Heads of the European Wizarding Governments sat down and decided to control the movement of our population during major Muggle or magical events. There is no knowing who will attack the Muggles and when. Some people just need an excuse to show off their powers. That’s why the mayor decided to inaugurate the Flower Carpet at night, so that we and the Muggles don’t collide. We visit it at night. They visit it on the following morning.”

“What happened at the Quidditch World Cup?” Adrian piped, looking up from his precious almond milk. He was sipping it very carefully. “What is Dark Mark?”

Hermione suddenly had a visual replay of the events of that night when Winky, the elf, was wrongfully accused of producing the Dark Mark with Harry Potter’s wand and coughed. “Adrian, why don’t you finish the milk so that you can go out with uncle Alexis?” she offered, after a venomous glare at the Junior Undersecretary.

“Okay!” Adrian accepted the idea gladly, finished his favourite almond milk in one go and wiped his mouth clean. “I’m ready.” He declared happily.

“No, you’re not.” Hermione shook her head, sober and not smiling, and turned to her friend, “Eva, can you please take Adrian to my suite? He needs to pee before he goes out.” Eva nodded.

“But I went to pee!” Adrian cried, clearly looking affronted by public discussion of such private matters. “And I don’t have any pee!” He said, holding his crotch.

“Adrian,” Hermione’s tone was dead serious which her son immediately perceived, “when Mama tells you to go to pee, you go to pee. Okay?”

“Okay.” Adrian didn’t argue and said in a small voice. He left his seat and went to Eva who gave Gabrielle a pointed look.

“Edmound, why don’t you show me that magical net of yours?” the quarter Veela elbowed the man sitting beside her.

“Magical…what?” Edmound spluttered, distracted; he had been gaping at Adrian and Hermione, trying to perceive the sudden change of the latter’s mood.

“Net.” Gabrielle gritted through her teeth and almost pulled Edmound out of his seat. She seemed to have sensed the tension that palpated between Hermione and Alexis and wrapped an arm around Edmound’s before leaving behind Eva and Adrian’s pair.

“Jean, I believe everything is in order.” Alexis said cautiously once they were alone in the table. “I am sorry if I have spoiled your mood with that topic about Quidditch World Cup.”

Hermione didn’t immediately reply. Breakfast being over, the diners were slowly leaving the vast Dining Hall, noisily discussing the morning’s plans. She took her time, allowing the place to be cleared.

“You hardly took any breakfast, Jean.” Alexis’s next remark reached her ears and looking down she found half eaten piece of a toast. She didn’t notice that before he had said.

“I believe you have already understood that I sent Adrian and others off to talk to you in private.” Hermione finally looked up at those fathomless ever pensive black eyes, her nerves steady and her mind set.

“Jean, there is no hurry.” Alexis said calmly. “We can talk about this later.”

“About _what_ exactly?” Hermione demanded, her temper rising with every moment that passed. What did this man take him as? Was he thinking that she was dying to sleep with him?

“About last night.” Alexis replied simply, “About us.”

Was it the simplicity of his manners or his taking-it-for-granted attitude, Hermione didn’t know, but she felt he was being unobtrusive on purpose; as if he knew what was on her mind and yet was playing around it, with his polished words and clever schemes.

“I am _not_ sorry to state, Alexis,” Hermione chewed every word before expelling it, “that there is no _us_ and there will not be one, _ever_.”

A dead calm greeted her statement. Alexis stared at her and she stared back, anger boiling inside her like the final product of a Polyjuice Potion that bubbled inside a cauldron.

“Can I be informed why I am thus rejected?” Alexis’s voice was hurt and his features pale. His eyes didn’t waver off for a second and Hermione faced it boldly.

“Can you please explain why _I_ don’t know that _my_ son is taking drawing classes with some Monsieur Monette?” She picked up a silver fork only for the sake of holding onto something and demanded coldly.

“Monsieur Monette?” A thin crease appeared between Alexis’s black eyebrows. His face showed no signs of being caught red handed, such as it would appear on a man’s who was trying to woo a woman using her only son, “Jean, I think there has been a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Hermione was greatly amused by the clever choice of the Junior Undersecretary’s words. “Indeed.” She smacked her lips and nodded. Her scorn was didn’t go unnoticed by Alexis whose frown only deepened a crease more.

“If you are telling me off just because I did not to tell you about Monsieur Monette, Jean,” He stated plainly, “let me assure you that you can trust me with Adrian’s safety. I always accompany him there and drop him home after his class is over.”

“Wonderful, Alexis!” Hermione clapped lightly, appalled by the degree of impassiveness the man chose to display. Was he forgetting who Adrian’s legal guardian was? Or was he dwelling in this dream that since the son was caught in his net, the mother would soon follow? “A truly marvelous piece of acting. You should be in drama clubs, you know. Your fame as an innocent naïve tragic hero will soon cross the French borders. Why are you wasting your time at the Ministry, nibbing out their precious pens?”

Whether he was hurt or angered by her words Hermione didn’t know nor did she care. She was here to clarify a few things before saying a final goodbye to Alexis Delacour. She waited for a thorough explanation to follow but none came.  Alexis only blinked twice. After a moment of silence he joined the tip of his fingers and supported his chin on it, giving Hermione a look as if she has lost her mind.

“Jean can you explain more fully what my crime is?” he asked solemnly. “Is it not telling you about Monsieur Monette or taking Adrian to him without your permission or both?”

“It’s neither.” Hermione finally lashed out, tired of all this silly mind games and playing innocence. “I trusted you as much as I trust all the Delacours. I keep my son under mother Apolline’s care with this confidence that whatever decision she’ll take for him will be good. But you…” she flared her nostrils, “You dare ask me to explain what your crime is! Can’t see what it is? Wrong was not your action but your motive.”

“Motive?” Alexis repeated, turning his head sideways and narrowing his eyes.

“For Merlin’s sake, Alexis, don’t pose such innocence!” Hermione cried in exasperation, “We both know _what_ I am talking about. Is it not plain enough to you? Or do you want me to say it out loud? And here I thought you were here to show some decency and save some part of our family relationship!” she snorted.

Alexis left the pensive posture and sat straight, glancing at the waiters who were cleaning the Dining Hall, “Jean, I am really sorry but I still fail to perceive what action of me has angered you such that we are talking about it in a dining hall and not in some more private place.”

“Because, I don’t want to be in a private place with you, Alexis.” Hermione stated boldly, “Not now, not ever. Who knows what you have up in your sleeves?” she shook her head in evident distrust, “Who could have thought you of all men that I know, would do something like this!”

“For Nostradamus’s sake Jean, please tell me what I have done!” Alexis seemed to be on the verge of his patience.

“You used my son!” Hermione left all pretence of being sophisticated, “Oh, don’t deny it now because I know you did! That Monsieur Monette was nothing but your clever scheme to have me end up in your bed, to have me indebted to you and accept your proposal. You said you don’t want a nurse or mistress or someone to bear your children. What a fantastic dialogue! How very touching to present that there exists a man who can think out of conventional box! Is it clear now or do you want me to _explain more fully what your crime is_! Will you still keep parroting that you had Adrian’s good intention in your heart?”

“I have his _best_ intentions in my heart.” Alexis replied. The light in his black eyes were gone and replaced by a strange vacant look that reminded Hermione of Snape’s. He took out his wand and casted a nonverbal charm to prevent them from being overheard. Hermione watched as his body slackened but didn’t break the silence.

“You said you _trusted_ me, Jean.” Alexis finally spoke, “I didn’t miss the use of a past tense there. I guess my actions have somehow broken the trust I had earned after six years of patience and reverence. But now that it’s gon..nne,” he stammered, “I…I feel no regret in saying that I had very good reasons for not telling you about Monette.”

“Really?” Hermione raised an eyebrow, “Let’s hear the great theory then.” She sat back and folded her arms, waiting for the explanation to follow.

“Are you sure you can take it?” Alexis asked, his features were like that of a statue, cold and dead.

“Don’t try my patience, Alexis.” Hermione fisted her hands, “I am not Adrian that you can do whatever you like.”

“I did _nothing_ to Adrian, Jean!” Alexis cried, looking very disturbed by her choice of words. For the first time since the conversation started he looked pale like a ghost. “You want to know why I didn’t tell you about Monette? Fine. I will explain. I know you’ll probably not believe a word of it but I’ll be as truthful as I can.” He took a heavy breathe, as if preparing himself for a deep plunge.

“I met Monette just a month ago. He came to meet the Senior Undersecretary, Philippe Merle, at the Ministry. But since Merle was out on a meeting, a high profile man like Monette was asked to sit in my office. He was waiting there when he noticed one of the drawings Adrian had given me. It was the one about a chicken and her chicks, eating worms. I had had it framed and placed on my desk. Monette picked it up and asked me who the artist was. Maybe he thought it was some foreign artist. I said that it was my five and half year old nephew, Adrian. Monette gave me a look as if I was off my rockers.  Said, how the Minister employed someone like me as his Junior Undersecretary was beyond him. I didn’t say another word and showed him some of Adrian’s other drawings. Monette was impressed beyond words. He borrowed the one with chicken to show it to one of his fellow artists and asked me to take Adrian to his studio. Said, he would love to be the young prodigy’s teacher. He also said that it’s a golden opportunity because everyone knows how very selective he was while taking pupils.”

Half of Hermione’s anger had died the moment she realized that her words about doing something to Adrian has crossed all borders in accusing Alexis. No matter how indirect, it somehow implied that he was a pedophile. A great bout of regret clasped her heart, knowing how painful it was to be maltreated and blamed so.

“I returned home and discussed the matter with maman.” Alexis continued, “She said that when you go to work Adrian feels very lonely. He plays with friends, helps papa in making flower beds or maman in baking, but if he had a good and interesting occupation to cultivate his time and merit, he would feel better. That’s when I decided to take Adrian to Monsieur Monette. I asked mama not to tell you about it until the right moment.”

“You asked _my_ mother to not tell me about _my_ son?” Hermione didn’t know whether to scream at him or ask for his forgiveness for her earlier hurtful words.

“Yes, I did.” Alexis nodded, looking nonplussed, “Because I knew what you’ll think, like you said that I tried to use your son to get closer to you.” Alexis’s gaze on Hermione was unwavered and his voice was not more audible than a whisper, “What I am going to tell you Jean, may it or may it not change your opinion of me, let it not be taken against all the Delacours; let it not make you leave them for mistakes that are solely mine. You know how much maman, papa and the rest of our family love you and Adrian.”

Hermione, not even her wildest dreams, had considered that possibility, that she’d leave the Delacours only for Alexis. Not only they were her family; if she knew Apolline, which she did, that woman would never stand any misbehaviour done to Hermione if even it was her only son.

“Never thought I’ll be telling you all these in a place like this.” Alexis rubbed his forehead and sighed, “Ever since you came to live with us, Jean I have been carrying a soft spot for you. I still remember the day you came to Paris, as if it is yesterday. You were wearing a navy blue tunic, with a black shirt and black leggings.” He reminisced, “The shirt was too loose for you. It hung like a black robe. You were so thin for a pregnant woman. As soon as you saw me, you wound your shirt around your midsection, hiding and protecting the three month old Adrian inside you. I don’t know how it happened or why it happened, it was not planned…but when I saw you at the train station…I lost my heart to you.”

“Through the years, you have been through a lot. You went to Beauxbatons amid extreme criticism, you had Adrian at the cost of unbearable pain and social stigma, you did odd jobs for a meager pay that was way under you. But despite everything, every obstacle that came on your way, Jean, you never left hope, you never left the battlefield; you came back and you proved yourself. You are good fighter, a ruthless fighter to be more correct. But you are also, very distrustful. You don’t trust us, men. It’s not your fault. It’s us who are at fault. We have hurt you. We have poisoned you.”

Alexis sighed deeply.

“I never wanted to use Adrian to get near you, Jean. If my intentions were to impress you, to get you, I could have shown false interest in the boy from the very beginning. I love him, maybe not as much as you do, but my emotions for him are true. I just wanted to help him in doing something he loves so much – drawing. Silly me! Look where I landed! Whatever I did to prevent it, in the end, you took my action as a way to attract your attention by using your son. It was not my intention to pry in your privacy or take away your rights as a parent. It’s quite the opposite. I did not want to influence your feelings towards me by using Adrian. I guess it happened because you came to know of it _after_ I asked you to give us a thought. If it were before, it probably wouldn’t have bothered you so much.”

For a while both remained silent, Hermione at a loss of words and Alexis, sad. Then he cleared his throat. “I am extremely sorry, Jean, if my actions have caused you any inconvenience. Please forgive me upon your honour.”

Whether it was like a sudden gush of wind that blasted open a door that was closed for a very long time, letting the wind and light in, Hermione didn’t know but those words of Alexis, his very simple confessions somehow made a deep crack on the walls she had built around her mind. Like a celestial light from another world, it made her see the real man behind the mask of Junior Undersecretary, for the very first time. Who said black couldn’t convey emotions? Maybe they never saw Snape’s eyes when he died, staring at Lily’s green eyes that her son has inherited. Hermione was there when that happened, and she was here now, staring at those black eyes of Alexis. In them, she saw another deep shade of black: the black of sadness, the black of a broken heart, the black of being misunderstood, the black of defeat and loneliness.

How the time passed, with them looking at each other, she didn’t know. It could be a heartbeat, a second, a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year or an eternity. When Hermione next came to her senses, she saw Adrian standing before her.

“I peed two times.” He declared boldly, holding up two fingers before her eyes. “I am going out now, with uncle Alexis.”

It never occurred to Hermione to stop her son. She simply nodded and the boy left, his hand under a firm grasp of Alexis’s, to visit the statue of the Peeing Boy.

All around her breakfast tables were being cleared. The Palace Hotel was proud to proclaim that they didn’t employ elves and everything they did had a touch of human in it. The low chattering of uniformed cleaners, squeaky sounds of glasses being polished, chinking of silvery cutleries and china reached her ears but not her brains. Like the foamy waves of sea that washed overboard a ship, it left not trace whatsoever on her conscious memory. She sat staring vacantly at the spot where Alexis was seating just minutes ago. She felt so empty inside, as if something was horribly wrong, as if she had done a terrible mistake, as if she has let go of one last train that could have taken her to home and now she stood on the platform, alone.

Hermione returned to her suite amid a great chasm that kept shaking the deepest corners of her turbulent mind. How could she even consider the possibility that Alexis would use her son to get her? How could she be so blind to the truth that was standing before her eyes? Hasn’t she seen enough of the man to trust him?

One memory came up on the forefront of her mind. It was just a month after Adrian was born, February 1999. Hermione was in the middle of her seventh year in Beauxbatons. The school authority had kindly allowed her to continue to study there in her pregnant state but they couldn’t let her have her baby in the girl’s dormitory. Who would look over the boy when she went to classes? Also she couldn’t possibly take an infant to a class. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Hermione decided to keep Adrian under Apolline’s care, at the Delacour Residence. Every day, after her classes were over, Madame Maxime allowed her to go to her baby and nurse him.

One of those days Hermione, tired from the day’s classes, returned to Adrian to breastfeed him and found his cot, the one Apolline had given her, empty. Frightened and frantic, she searched the entire house and found her son in Alexis’s care. Apolline has gone out to see an expectant mother and had entrusted the baby to her son. The Junior Undersecretary was sleeping in a couch, fully dressed, and a sleeping Adrian was placed on his broad chest. His right hand was protectively encircled over Hermione’s little bundle of happiness.

It was such a tender sight that she had stood by their pair for a full minute, admiring the man’s thoughtfulness and care for her son. For a split moment she had visualized Ron, sleeping with his mouth open and taking care of their baby boy while she was at work.

Today, when Hermione sat alone in her suite, that five and a half year old memory brought tears to her eyes. She stared unblinkingly at the horizon and cursed herself. How many Alexises should get hurt on pursuit of a heart that distrusted men? Had she not promised to be kind to this Darcy?

Hermione took out her trunk and started packing, solely for the sake of keeping her mind and hands employed elsewhere. Gabrielle and Edmound were out on their boating, Adrian was gone with Alexis, and Eva must be out for a last minute shopping. Even Hermione had some but now she had no mood to go out and shop. Nothing mattered anymore.

It didn’t take her more than two hours to pack. With no Adrian to distract her, she could work faster and at around midday, it was almost done. She was folding Adrian’s clothes and wondering how to face Alexis if he came to drop Adrian to hotel when she felt a peculiar sensation go up her spine.

Being the first woman Chief Curse Breaker of Gringotts was neither a matter of joke nor a matter of using one’s gender to get the favour. Hermione had won the post that was considered exclusively male, on pure talent and knowledge. During four years of her service, she was trained by the Head Goblin, Geccemp himself, and sensing curses or common spells, even without touching them was her second nature.

Frowning slightly and forgetting all her perilous thoughts she looked down and found herself holding a white shirt that belonged to Adrian. It was the one he had worn at the Drawing Competition. She continued frowning at it for a while and tried to ascertain why she was sensing a spell in it.

“Gemenio!” a split second later, Hermione pulled out her wand without any conscious thoughts and casted the nonverbal spell on the shirt.  As expected nothing happened and she stared at it.

Just like it was with the Homenum Revelio Spell, not happening was the biggest happening here. The non-reproductive Gemenio Spell meant that someone has made a copy of her son’s shirt!

Hermione was dumfounded. How was that even possible? They were at The Palace Hotel!

The sound of someone opening the door and walking into her suite reached her ears. Then someone called her.

“Jean!”

Hermione ignored it, staring at the shirt in disbelief. What the hell was going on here?

“Jean, I am done!” said the woman again, not receiving response from this end. Hermione didn’t even bother to hear it, let alone reply.

“Jean?” the voice was coming closer now. “What’s wrong?” It stopped right beside her and asked.

Hermione turned and Eva came into view, her features showing unmistakable signs of confusion and apprehension, to find her friend standing and staring down at a white shirt.

“Someone has made a copy of Adrian’s shirt.” Hermione stated, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears.

“Pardon?” Eva scowled.

“Someone has made a copy of Adrian’s shirt.” Hermione’s voice was louder and tone, firmer, this time.

“Someone has made a copy of Adrian’s shirt?” Eva repeated, blinking rapidly. Her eyes travelled down to the shirt Hermione was holding to the wand at hand and to the woman who stood transfixed. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, skeptic.

“Because…” Hermione didn’t know actually who was speaking through her mouth. This discovery was by far the most shocking and horrifying of all; more than what Gabrielle had told her about Alexis, the Head Goblin told her about the Aureus Gold, when she met Alexis, he proposed and this morning, when Adrian told her about Monsieur Monette. “…when you put a Gemenio spell on an object, it can’t be replicated twice.”

“You mean you can’t make copy of a thing more than once?” Eva simplified the statement.

Hermione nodded, finally some sense creeping back into her into her numb extremities, “The word Gemini means a pair, or a twin. This spell is most commonly used on gold, or galleons to be more precise, to make your money increase, by naïves. The goblins are an expert is detecting counterfeit money. If you check any Wizarding currency, be it a knut, or a sickle or a galleon, you’ll find a serial number on it. The number belongs to the Goblin that has cast that coin. While casting the coin, they put some kind of anti-Gemenio spell to prevent making fake galleons. I learned it in my fifth year, when I tried to make some fake galleons.”

“ _You_ tried to make some fake galleons?” Eva’s features honestly couldn’t display more astonishment.

“Oh come on, Eva! Do I look like a smuggler?” Hermione cried impatiently. Just like it was in the morning, she was suddenly angry at her friend’s lack of sense to detect the real issue, “I made those galleons for Dumbledore’s Army, to inform them when our next meeting will take place.” She explained, aghast, “Moral of the story is that when someone makes a copy of something using a Gemenio Spell, it doesn’t yield more than one copy. The copy also can’t be used to make another copy. It’s a _Gemenio_ Spell, for Merlin’s sake!”

“Relax, Jean!” Eva held up hands and tried to calm her, “Cool! I understand it, okay?”

“No, you don’t!” Hermione snapped. She was trembling now, almost hysteric as she remembered the dream, “Don’t you see? Somebody is after my son! He must have made a copy of his shirt!”

“He?” Eva repeated incredulously.

“Yes, he!” Hermione replied irritably, her insides suddenly cold and numb from fear. “I know who it is? Jacob Jordeans!”

“Jacob who?” Eva looked half-apprehensive and half-exasperated, failing to catch up with her friend’s wild claims.

“Jacob Jordeans!” Hermione screamed, clutching the shirt close to her heart, “He was the one who hugged my Adrian as if he was his lost son. Yes, yes, it’s him! He’s evil! He’s after Adrian! He wants to take _my_ son away. That’s why I have been feeling weird since I met him. He gave me such creeps! I couldn’t shake hands with him! Then I had this dream that he wants to take my Adrian away… I mean…the man in the dream looked like Jordeans but when he spoke, it was…actually Malfoy. It’s him! He was here! Jacob!” she looked around wildly, “He made a copy of Adrian’s shirt!”

“Jean!” Eva looked close to tears, trying and failing to help her troubled friend, “I understand your fear when it comes to that bastard Malfoy. And I don’t blame you for it. Honestly speaking, anyone in your place, anyone, no matter how big a Gryffindor she was, will be afraid. It’s very normal. But tell me one thing. Isn’t that bastard supposed to be in England now?”

Hermione bit her lips. Should she tell Eva about Malfoy currently being in France? That it was she who Curse Broke the Malfoy vault and had a nervous breakdown after she saw him at Geccemp’s office? Would they take her as a madwoman?

“I think I’ll go and see why Adrian’s isn’t back.” She said instead, deciding to address the more serious of two issues, “It’s been almost two hours now! What if…” a cold dread paralyzed her, “…I can’t rest until I see that he’s alright!”

“Jean! Listen!” Eva tried to stop her but Hermione ignored it and ran for the door.

Outside, she started for the nearest lift. Running through the corridors of thirteenth floor, ignoring Eva’s calls and clutching Adrian’s white shirt to her heart, with her messy bun askew, it almost felt like her fifth year, when Harry suddenly declared that Sirius was being tortured by Voldemort at the Department of Mysteries. She hadn’t really realized it then and had tried to reason Harry instead, but now that her only son was in danger, she understood why her friend had been so apprehensive, so fearful and so desperate to get to his godfather at the cost of everything. Sirius was the last hope of a better future for him, the last parent he had.

She skidded to a stop before the lifts. They were three, placed in a row and on the same foyer and to its opposite, were five Floo fireplaces. As she stood before them, breathing heavily and her heart pounding, she saw that none of the three lifts were available. A hand on the meter said that they were currently on 12th, 6th and 3rd floor respectively. Deciding not to wait for the lift that was on the 12th floor, Hermione reached for the pot of Floo powder and threw an entire handful on the fireplace. She was about to step into the green flames when two simultaneous sounds stopped her.

A mechanical sound of a lift coming to stand and its wrought iron gates springing open.

An exclamation, “Jeeeean! Loooook behiiiiind yoooooou!”

As if slow motion mode, Hermione turned her body and gasped. Adrian was coming out of the lift followed by Alexis who was holding the boy’s hand firmly.

“ADRIAN!” Hermione cried so loudly that she thought her lungs might burst. She has never been more relieved to see her son, unharmed and safely back to her arms. “Adrian!” she almost threw herself on the boy, engulfed him into a tight hug and started crying.

“Adrian, Adrian, Adrian!” She squeaked, “Adrian! My son! My baby!”

“Mama!” the little boy looked alarmed at being greeted so, but he didn’t for once protest as his mother released him and ran her trembling hands over his body, making sure he was real and unharmed. “What happened?”

“N…nnothing, Mama’s love, nnnothing!” Hermione embraced her son again and kissed him feverishly, “You are safe, you are home and that’s all that matters.”

They stayed like that for a long minute, Hermione and Adrian, still and silent. She heard low whispers as Eva told Alexis about what just happened. Some of the hotel guests have come out to see what the commotion was about and shook their heads in sympathy when Eva told them that the mother was just worried for her son.

“I think you should consider using an amulet, Madame.” An old man suggested in a croaky voice, “That kid is way too good looking for his own good.”

The crowd murmured in agreement.

“Yes, yes, you should look for a good amulet.”

“I heard they have good amulets to protect kids from evil eyes on the Bosco’s. It’s an Italian shop right across the hotel.”

“For the time being you can use some sage to repel the negative forces.”

“Merci, everyone.” Hermione straightened up and wiped her tears. “I’ll consider all the options.” She said and heard the wrought iron gates of the lift close as Alexis left without even bothering to talk to her. “Let’s go to our room.” she looked down at Adrian and without wasting another moment, returned to their suite with Eva bringing on the rear.

Once inside, she sealed the door shut and started casting the protective spells that she had used around their tent during the Horcrux hunt on their suite. She started from the balcony, then moved to their bedroom, the sitting room and finished with Gabrielle’s bedroom. During the entire time, Adrian and Eva watched her work in silence.

“Mama, what happened?” Adrian asked after a whole fifteen minutes of silence.

Hermione peeked out of the windows and closed the curtains with a flick of her wand before finally replying. “Mama made sure no that evil can ever reach my little rabbit.” She sat before her little son and cupping his face, kissed gently on his forehead.

“You mean the evil witch?” Adrian piped, his innocent grey eyes wide, half-fearful and half-fierce. He seemed to have associated the word evil with the ‘evil witch’.

“Evil has no real face Adrian.” Hermione replied gently, her heart finally beating on its regular rhythm, “It can be a witch, a wizard, a Muggle and even, in Lord Voldemort’s case, a boy like you.”

“I am not a boy.” Adrian protested, taking his manhood very seriously, “Who is Lord…Vol..dermot?” He asked, having difficulty in uttering the strange name.

“It’s not Voldermot, little rabbit. It’s Voldemort.” Hermione corrected him with a kind smile, “He was the evil witch’s master. He taught her and many other people to be cruel, to be bad. But he is dead now; like the evil witch is.”

“Dead?” Adrian looked at his aunt Eva who was watching the pair talk, silently.

“Yes, Adrian, Lord Voldemort is dead.” Eva smiled kindly and walked to their pair, “And the Wizarding world is indebted to your mother for the sacrifices and hard choices she made to make it happen. You should be proud of her.”

“I am proud of Mama!” Adrian exclaimed, hugging Hermione protectively, “I am her man. I’ll make a beautiful home for her. We’ll live there. Happily.”

Hermione laughed, her mind finally at ease. Adrian was safely back to her and whoever was behind that Gemenio spell, didn’t succeed in his plans of getting his filthy hands on her son.

“So how was your little outing, my little gentleman?” she decided to talk about something that’d elevate their moods. It’s been a lot since this morning; first Alexis, then Eva and now Adrian. She desperately needed to put a full stop now.

“It was very good!” Adrian exclaimed happily and gave her a dazzling smile, “Look what uncle Alexis bought for me!” he took out a pair of kid’s sunglasses and put it on, “He said it’ll protect my eyes from sunlight.”

Hermione felt a great rush of gratitude and sorrow, equally numbing her senses. How very wrong was she to wrongfully accuse a man of crimes he never committed, hurt a man who was always by her side, silently and watched over them like a great big shadow but never asked for anything in return!

The words he had spoken to her, at the breakfast table came rushing by, making her see herself in another light. Alexis was right in saying that she was ruthless fighter, a fighter who never trusted in men, those who have poisoned her.

She was wondering how to apologize to him and make amends for her senseless behaviour when she heard someone pounding on the door.

“Jean, it’s us.” Alexis’s voice came drifting by from behind the sealed door, “Me and Monsieur Leopold, the hotel manager. Open the door, please!”

Hermione stood up, flicked her wand and lifted up the seal. “Come in.” She bade.

The door knob turned and in came, Alexis and Monsieur Leopold.

“Mademoiselle Granger, Monsieur Undersecretary tells me that someone tried to pry into our guest’s privacy.” The hotel manager came to stand before them and stated, looking dead serious. “I came to investigate the matter.”

“I don’t know if it’s prying but someone duplicated a copy of my son’s shirt, the one he was wearing at the Drawing Competition.” Hermione said, asking Eva with her eyes to take a gaping and intently listening Adrian away. Her intelligent friend got the signal and in the pretence of showing him her shopping, left with him for her suite.

“I see.” Leopold looked disturbed by what was being presented to him, “Can I have the shirt please?”

Hermione handed him the shirt she was still clutching. The hotel manager frowned at it for a while, removed his wand and like Hermione had done, casted a Gemenio spell on it. As expected, the shirt didn’t yield another copy.

“I believe you know my field of expertise to _not_ question my suspicions.” Hermione stated firmly, “I want a full probing of how and why it happened.”

“Of course, of course.” Monsieur Leopold nodded, his always cheerful features extremely grave, “This matter will be dealt with utmost importance, I assure you, mademoiselle. This shirt will be handed to the Aurors and they will personally visit your suite and check if any other object has been sneaked in or taken away. Meanwhile, we can make arrangements for you to move to another suite, if you wish.”

“No, I’m fine here.” Hermione decided not to leave the protective boundaries of her casted spells, “I have already made my own arrangements. I also want to know _if and how_ someone can break into my suite in my absence.”

“I assure you, Mademoiselle, that The Palace Hotel is _completely_ safe for all our guests.” Monsieur Leopold looked appalled by the idea that the spotless image of his esteemed hotel might be tarnished, “The Ministry of Magic looks over our security, directly and provides us with Palace Guards, whom we commonly refer to as Aurors. Thieves and plunders can never enter a suite. The place is protected and the Palace Guards check it every day. Whoever did this…” he folded Adrian’s shirt, “…must have some other motives.”

“Such as?” Hermione crossed her arms and demanded coolly. For some strange reason, after Edmound’s near drowning incident, she couldn’t entirely believe the manager’s boisterous claims.

“It can be the paparazzis.” Monsieur Leopold suggested confidently, “Maybe they are interested in the kid who won ten thousand galleons. You said that Master Adrian had worn the original shirt for the Drawing Competition.”

Hermione frowned, wondering if that possibility was close or distant. She had met the likes of Rita Skeeter and knew how those scums would stop at nothing to get the inside news.

“But how are they supposed to know which shirt he wore for the competition?” she asked, not knowing how to explain the weird incidents that started from the moment her son won that title. 

“Let’s not waste our time in talking. Let the Aurors come, they’ll soon find out how, what and why this happened. With your permission, then, mademoiselle Granger.” The hotel manager bowed and left.

Hermione watched him leave, deep in unpleasant thoughts. She wondered for a moment to ask Leopold to have the Aurors interrogate Jacob Jordeans for a possible motive and then dismissed the idea. Things were already too complicated without involving a renowned painter. Besides, she had no proof that he was after her son. It all started with a rejected handshake and a dream.

“Eva told me that you had a dream about a man who spoke in Malfoy’s voice.” Her musings broke when the only man left on her suite spoke at last. “She said he was trying to take Adrian away.”

Hermione focused her gaze on Alexis, feeling a terrible guilt constrict her guts painfully. Exactly how very selfless and caring a man should be to talk to a woman who rejected his proposal that very morning?

“Let me assure you, Jean that Draco Malfoy is not after Adrian.” Alexis continued, his features plain and honest, with no specks of pain or hurt that it had displayed earlier. “I was on a meeting this Monday when his cousin, Julian told the Minister of Magic that the British Malfoys are visiting France on his mother’s request. They want to rekindle their relationship.”

Hermione didn’t know why but Draco Malfoy or his family relations suddenly didn’t matter to her anymore. She felt neither relieved nor happy that he was not after Adrian. If that one man, with his actions, thoughts and words has hurt Hermione beyond any sort of repair, what has she done to help her heal? Nothing. Nothing except hurting those who tried to help her, protect her. If Malfoy was to be blamed for ruining her life, wasn’t she equally responsible for not letting it to be rebuilt?

“I am sorry for this morning, Alexis.” Hermione’s voice broke and she started crying for the second time that day.

“Jean!” the man came running to her, looking horrified, “Please don’t cry! It’s not your fault!”

“It is…it is…” Hermione shook her head and broke down into frank tears. She slumped down on the bed, her knees too weak to support her body and wept. “I am the reason…I am unhappy…I am… a complete failure… a waste…”

“Jean!” whether it was to assure her or to calm her, Alexis kneeled before Hermione and took her hand in his for the first time since they first met almost seven years ago. His hands were big but his touch equally warm and soft. It was pleasant, it was comforting but most importantly it was safe. Shivering slightly, Hermione looked up at him.

“Don’t ever use that word ‘waste’ for yourself.” Alexis locked his eyes with hers and bade firmly, “I forbid you.”

Hermione nodded, her tearful brown eyes gazing unblinkingly at Alexis’s fathomless black pair. For the first time she realized that she could spend an eternity looking at them. Could a man’s eyes be so dark and so clear at the same time? How could she not lose herself in them?

“Has anyone ever told you, Jean, how very beautiful your eyes are?” Alexis was holding their eye lock, not blinking for once, “They remind me of a doe’s eyes. Brilliant, beautiful and bright, like the woman you are. How could you say that you are a waste?”

“I am sorry I said that I am a waste.” Hermione whispered, “I am sorry for all those hurtful…”

“Sshhh…” Alexis placed a finger on his lips, asking her to be quiet, “Please don’t ruin this moment. I have been waiting for this for an eternity.”

Hermione stared, wondering what was yet to follow. Was Alexis going to make love to her? The man however showed no signs of doing so. Instead he rummaged inside his robes, took out what looked like a leather box and held it open for her. Inside, dazzled a brilliant ruby studded ring.

“It was my grandmother’s. Before I came here Maman gave it to me to give you with her blessings.” He composed his body into a proper kneeling position and offered the ring to her, “Jean, I just want to tell you that my affections and desires are unchanged; that I’ll always lo…love you, no matter what happens. But if you are not interested, if I have hurt you or caused you unease by my manners, speak now. I value our family relationship more than everything in the world and one word of caution from you will silence me, forever.”

Hermione gaped at the ring, not knowing how to react or whether to react at all. She opened her mouth to say a thousand words that broke out inside her head but nothing came out except an honest comment.

“It’s…beautiful.” She placed her left hand in the air between the box and Alexis. They had numerous small scars, fresh and old, and cuts that she has received from all the wandworks she had done during her training period at Gringotts. “Will it look good on these bruised fingers?”

“Can there be a bigger honour for a lifeless stone to be your wedding ring?” Alexis asked. “The woman that you called a waste; do you know how much I have cherished her? The fingers that you called bruised; do you know how many times I dreamt to hold them? The eyes that you make cry so many times a day, do you have any idea, Jean, how they have captivated my soul in them? How can you be so severe, so ruthless to the one woman I love? How?”

“Alexis, I have nothing to give you.” Hermione cried, her heart bursting from the desire to run away and hide in some place where no one could find even her shadow, “My body is dirty! My soul, I gave it to another man! You are a good man, Alexis! You deserve someone better! Someone clean and pure! This ring deserves a beautiful hand.” She rolled the sleeve of her left arm and showed him the writing, ‘Mudblood’. “It doesn’t fit here! I don’t fit beside you!”

“If you don’t like me, Jean, then it’s fine. I’ll accept your decision.” Alexis closed the lid of the box and sighed heavily, “But please don’t try to take decisions on my behalf. You have no idea who you are to me and I’ll not tolerate it if you insult yourself again, telling me that your body is dirty, or your soul is given.”

“But I…” Hermione cried, not knowing whom to choose, herself or Alexis. If she chose him it would be cheating and if she chose herself it would be a lifetime of loneliness.

“For Nostradamus’s sake, Jean, I am not after your body!” Alexis cried, looking pain stricken, “I never was and I never will be. How could you measure yourself on such crude scales? A woman is not her maidenhood! Nor is she an ample bosom or a tight birth passage! As for your soul, I know it’s given to a redhead I never met. I know you never saw me that way. But if I am willing to give us a second chance can you please try? At least for once?”

Hermione didn’t reply at once. She saw in her mind’s eye the home she had dreamt that very morning. That Alexis truly loved her and Adrian, was clear. It was not an obsession or infatuation. He was here, kneeling before her, begging her to give them a second chance because he cared; he cared for her, for Adrian, for them. He was offering her a lifetime of love and protection, a home that she could call hers, a family where Adrian would be treated with love and equality. Why was she hesitating in accepting it?

“You know Adrian will always be my first priority.” She said after a while, deciding to be honest from the very beginning, “You can’t complain later.”

“Have you ever heard me complain about anything that I’ll complain about Adrian?” Alexis enquired calmly, “Besides, why should a father complain about his son? Just because his sperm didn’t contribute in the boy’s making?”

Hermione chose not to reply and looked down at her lap. Her hands were folded on it. She imagined the ruby ring on the left ring finger. Strangely it looked good.

“Jean, look at me.” She heard Alexis bade her and she looked up, once again at those ever pensive eyes.

“We’ll not have kids if you don’t want to.” He said so solemn and firmly that the last restrain keeping her stubborn, broke.

“No!” Hermione cried, finally giving in, “No Alexis! Don’t say that! I’ll love to make additions to our little family! I am just not ready for it…” she broke off and bit her lips, “…I need some time…to be physically capable of accepting someone inside me…you know…it still hurts…” she fisted her hands.

“It doesn’t hurt there, Jean dearest, it hurts here.” Alexis said, placing a hand over his heart, “The wound on your soul needs to be healed before you can think about us or any new life. But don’t worry. We’ll work on it. Together.”

Hermione gave Alexis a tearstained smile. Why was this man so good at heart?

“Now, now, dear Jean, don’t you dare make those beautiful eyes cry again.” Alexis gently wiped her tears with his handkerchief, “Would you like to hear a poem? When I first read it, almost four years ago, it reminded me of you.”

“Poem?” Hermione laughed, “You are so full of wonders, Alexis!”

“It’s a pity my esteemed friends are not here to protest violently to that statement.” Alexis smiled and took her hands into his again, “They think I am a nerd.”

“They are jerks and definitely not your _friends_.” Hermione said dismissively. “My poem, please.”

“Ahem.” Alexis cleared his importantly, just as Adrian had done before reciting his little poem on Hermione and started.

_You hated your eye colour_

_Called it a dull and dirty brown._

_Wished for the deep blue of an ocean_

_Where admirers’ hearts would drown._

_And it pained me when I realized_

_You’d never see it like I do._

_The way your eyes hint at a story,_

_That I want to read right through._

_They hold specks of stolen sunlight._

_That you’d miss with just one glance,_

_And a depth of raw emotion,_

_That can freeze you in a trance._

_They are a fix of molten chocolate,_

_When I am craving something sweet._

_But hold a gaze that’s so unwavering,_

_That I find it hard to meet._

_I fall right down the rabbit hole,_

_When I look into your eyes._

_The brown of earth’s unfettered beauty,_

_That I yearn to memorize._

_When I was tired of not belonging,_

_They made me feel like I’d been found,_

_And I hope that you never say again,_

_That your eyes are simply brown._

Hermione didn’t say a word when Alexis stood on his knees and slowly but gently closed her eyes. She felt him come closer, his breaths brushing over lips and then it moved upward. He breathed on her forehead as his lips planted two soft kisses on her eyes.

 For the first time in her life, a man’s touch felt so good! So safe! So supportive! Like the gentle caress of a feather on her skin, like cold water that soothed her sun burnt body, like rainfall after a century of drought.

“You are beautiful, Hermione Jean Granger.” Alexis whispered into her ears, “Believe it!”

She sat like that, eyes closed and serene, long after Alexis left, after wrapping her fingers on the leather box. She breathed in, feeling like the old Hermione once again. Confident, brave and purposeful. Yes, she could do it. She could win over her fears. She could get the man who loved her. She could have a beautiful future, one with Alexis and Adrian living like father and son. She was not going to let Draco Malfoy’s fear govern her life anymore. She was Hermione Jean Granger; she was a Gryffindor and she was not going to be beaten down by a filthy rapist Slytherin.

The rain was finally rejuvenating the cracked surface of her dying mind. Little shoots of hope were popping up and soon, Hermione knew, the field would be full of white daisies, her favourite flower.

•••••

As morning approached on the wings of aurora, Audré sat outside a hospital cabin, looking gloomy and pensive. It’s been almost an hour since they had rushed in here with an unconscious Draco, who had a big lump over his right eye, where he must have collided with a hard object and passed out. The Healers at St. Waltrude were one of the most efficient she has ever seen and they attended to their patient, without even bothering to know or care who he was or how very influential was his family. All the while, Audré had stood outside the emergency room and waited for a news.

“Water?” She heard Monsieur Leopold offering her a goblet and she took it with an appreciative nod. The Hotel Manager, too, was a very considerate man who decided not to leave his guest alone to deal with everything. Audré would certainly remember that kindness for a very long time.

The cabin door swung open and one of the senior Healers came out. Audré left her seat and the water she was drinking and stood up expectedly.

“There is nothing to worry, Madame Malfoy.” The Healer crossed the distance between them in two large strides and reached Audré, looking tired but otherwise at ease. “We have checked for an internal hemorrhage and thankfully there is none.”

“Hemo…what?” Monsieur Leopold prompted, not very familiar with medical terms.

“Hemorrhage means bleeding and internal means inside.” Audré replied on the Healer’s stead, relieved that such was not the case with her nephew, “Internal hemorrhage means the bleeding that happens inside our body. It’s the first thing the Healers try to rule out when they get a patient with head injury.”

“Why?” both the hotel manager and the Healer asked, the former looking astonished and the letter, impressed.

“Because our brain lies inside a closed cavity. The skull.” Audré certainly was the kind of person who’d not show off her knowledge but replied nonetheless, slightly nonchalant, “Therefore the blood that escapes during an internal bleeding has no place to go and presses down on our brain. It hampers the normal activity and the patient may become paralyzed.”

“Excellent!” The Healer cried, and Leopold nodded, though it was not clear if he understood a word of what Audré just explained. “You should have considered a career in medicine, Madame.”

“I should have considered a career in a lot of things, Monsieur Healer.” Audré smiled wearily and shook her head, deciding not to comment on her many talents and returned to the original topic, “When can my nephew come around?”

“We can’t say anything for sure now.” the Healer scratched his chin thoughtfully, “He got hurt pretty badly. The protocol says that we should wait for at least twelve hours before commenting on him.” He glanced at Monsieur Leopold and seemed to make up his on something. “Madame Malfoy, do you think your nephew did this on purpose?”

“You mean if he tried to kill himself?” Audré rephrased the question. “Why would you think so?”

“Because one of the tests that we ran on Monsieur Malfoy says that he suffers from some kind of dormant depression.” The Healer replied gravely, “I believe you know what test I am talking about.”

Audré nodded.

“This depression is eating him from inside.” The Healer continued, “Also, I believe you noticed that he was grasping a white shirt when he was brought in here. No matter what we did, we couldn’t release it from his death grip. He is still clutching it to his heart.”

“That’s his son’s shirt.” Audré replied, remembering how her nephew had reacted when she went to check on him and the Headache Potion accidentally landed on Adrian’s shirt. If he couldn’t bear to part with the shirt, how could be bear to part with the actual person it belonged to?

“His son?” The Healer repeated, “Where is he now? Shouldn’t he near his father?”

“They certainly would if they were alive.” Audré decided not to talk about the only one that was left, “My nephew lost his wife and all three of their sons, just two monthes ago. The last one wasn’t even born.”

A dead silence greeted her proclamation, with Monsieur Leopold looking horrorstruck and the Healer, pained. Then the latter broke the silence.

“I am so sorry, Madame Malfoy!” The Healer shook his head and tsk’ed in sympathy, “I didn’t mean to make you go through that terrible incident once again.”

“No, it’s alright.” Audré assured the man who was genuinely sorry, “Now you know why he might be depressed.”

“And I think it’s a miracle that he is alive after all that he went through!” The Healer cried softly, shaking his head in disbelief, “We, the Healers are considered to have the toughest nerve in the world and I don’t think that many of us could have managed to work let alone live if our kids were dead. Does he have anyone left in his family?”

“Draco’s father followed his first grandson but his mother, Narcissa, lives.” Audré smiled sadly, “I know what you will ask me next. To bring his mother here. But I don’t think it’ll be a wise idea. She is almost as depressed as her son is and there is no point in alarming her more. I am here; I’ll take care of my nephew.”

“Very well Madame, as you wish.” The Healer let out a tired sigh and stifled a yawn. “Our nurses will be monitoring his vitals and keeping us updated. They are well trained to deal with such patients. Meanwhile, if you want, you can return to your hotel room and take some rest. I don’t think Monsieur Malfoy will come around before midday.”

“Merci, Healer for your kind support.” Audré thanked him.

“Oh no, Madame, that’s my duty!” The Healer protested, smiling for the first time since he came out, “In fact, I think it’s our duty to help a man live who has sustained and survived such great losses. Three sons! Gracious lord! If he only had at least one of them! Just one! I am sure he’d have considered this life worth living.”

The Healer left Audré deep in thought. She stood outside Draco’s cabin for a while, wondering if she should visit him now or return later. She opted for the second option and left for the Palace Hotel with an exceptionally quiet Monsieur Leopold.

“I never knew behind those arrogant smirks of Monsieur Malfoy lied a man so lonely.” He remarked thoughtfully once they were on the streets and walking steadily for the Town Hall, the portal to Wizarding alley, “He lost his sons and he worked day and night to arrange a charity for orphans he barely knew!” he shook his head, “Honestly Madame Malfoy, after this morning he has earned such respect in my eyes that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand anyone who dares to insult him as a Malfoy. What do they know of this great family? What do they know of their silent kindness?”

“You are too generous, Monsieur Leopold, to consider us so highly.” Audré replied, “The name Malfoy _demands_ respect, not _creates_ one.”

“I am so vehemently against that unfair statement, Madame.” Leopold protested and they reached the Grand Place, the square that lay before the Town Hall building. Audré sighed remembering how very excited was Draco to take Adrian on a ride and now he was lying on a hospital bed. Was it a punishment for what he had done to Edmound just four days ago?

She half listened to what Leopold said about his own thoughts and observations on the Malfoys and occasionally nodded to convey that she was paying attention. They reached the Palace Hotel, the manager bowed her a goodbye and she returned, once again, to the sanctuary of her suite.

Audré slumped on the couch she had been occupying just before she rushed to St. Waltrude and allowed herself to finally be at peace. When and how she drifted into an uneasy slumber she didn’t know. She woke up suddenly. It was the sounds of someone’s panicked cries that have awakened her.

_“Someone has made a copy of Adrian’s shirt.”_

It was none other than Jean Granger and her voice was coming in through Draco’s enchanted mirror. Audré sat up straight, her slumber completely gone and listened closely to the conversation.

_“_ _Someone has made a copy of Adrian’s shirt? How can you be so sure?”_

_“Because…when you put a Gemenio spell on an object, it can’t be replicated twice.”_

_“You mean you can’t make copy of a thing more than once?”_

_“The word Gemini means a pair, or a twin. This spell is most commonly used on gold, or galleons to be more precise, to make your money increase, by naïves. The goblins are an expert is detecting counterfeit money. If you check any Wizarding currency, be it a knut, or a sickle or a galleon, you’ll find a serial number on it_ _. The number belongs to the Goblin that has cast that coin. While casting the coin, they put some kind of_ _anti-Gemenio spell to prevent making fake galleons. I learned it in my fifth year, when I tried to make some fake galleons.”_

_“You tried to make some fake galleons?”_

_“Oh come on, Eva! Do I look like a smuggler? I made those galleons for Dumbledore’s Army, to inform them when our next meeting will take place. Moral of the story is that when someone makes a copy of something using a Gemenio Spell, it doesn’t yield more than one copy. The copy also can’t be used to make another copy. It’s a Gemenio Spell, for Merlin’s sake!”_

Audré let out an involuntary yelp, amazed by what she was hearing. Jean Granger has discovered that her son’s shirt has been replicated! Interesting! Very interesting! What more, she had made some fake galleons for a group that was called Dumbledore’s Army. If Audré’s memories served her right, it was a secret society formed by Harry Potter. Was she anyway related to him?

 _“Relax, Jean! Cool!”_ the other voice tried to calm Jean. Audré knew now, it was Eva’s, Jean’s friend. _“I understand it, okay?”_

 _“No, you don’t!”_ Jean was way too panicked in Audré’s opinion to be calmed down by just words, _“Don’t you see? Somebody is after my son! He must have made a copy of his shirt!”_

 _“He?”_ Audré blinked, listening to the heated conversation as if her life depended on it.

_“Yes, he! I know who it is? Jacob Jordeans!”_

Even for someone as expressionless as Audré, she couldn’t help but leave her seat and stare at the mirror in disbelief.

 _“Jacob who?”_ Eva was asking Jean.

 _“Jacob Jordeans!”_ Jean seemed at the very end of her patience, _“He was the one who hugged my Adrian as if he was his lost son. Yes, yes, it’s him! He’s evil! He’s after Adrian! He wants to take my son away. That’s why I have been feeling weird since I met him. He gave me such creeps! I couldn’t shake hands with him! Then I had this dream that he wants to take my Adrian away… I mean…the man in the dream looked like Jordeans but when he spoke, it was…actually Malfoy. It’s him! He was here! Jacob! He made a copy of Adrian’s shirt!”_

Audré clapped a hand over her open mouth, not knowing how this was suddenly happening. So that was why Jean didn’t shake hands with her nephew? She had sensed something weird in him and wasn’t convinced by his outward looks. What more, she has had a nightmare in which she saw him, Jacob Jordeans talking in Draco’s voice, trying to take Adrian away. Did she have the dream the same night Draco had his one about losing Adrian?

_“Jean! I understand your fear when it comes to that bastard Malfoy. And I don’t blame you for it. Honestly speaking, anyone in your place, anyone, no matter how big a Gryffindor she was, will be afraid. It’s very normal. But tell me one thing. Isn’t that bastard supposed to be in England now?”_

Bastard Malfoy! Audré frowned deeply. Why was Eva calling her nephew names? She waited for an explanation or some kind of reply to follow but what Jean said fulfilled none of the criteria.

_“I think I’ll go and see why Adrian’s isn’t back. It’s been almost two hours now! What if…I can’t rest until I see that he’s alright!”_

_“Jean! Listen!”_

There was sound of a door opening and the voices disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

Audré stood transfixed, seeing in her mind’s eyes a Jean Granger that ran through the corridors of the Palace Hotel, clutching her son’s shirt to her heart, for the nearest Floo or lifts. It was what she would have done if she had sensed that her only child was in imminent danger. But the problem was that Adrian was not in any kind of danger. The man who Jean thought was after her son, Jacob Jordeans, was actually Draco Malfoy and he was lying unconscious on a hospital bed, having his head almost cracked open first.

She paced impatiently, waiting for something to happen. Why she was so agitated she didn’t know. This was not the Audré she knew herself to be - cool and composed, always armed with a plot or two. Was it the discoveries that have shocked her? That Jean Granger has somehow linked the duplication of her son’s shirt to Draco! Or was it an ill feeling of something terrible that has happened between Draco and Jean that she was so fearful of him, that she cried secretly at night?

The sound of the door opening again came through the Protean charmed the mirror. Audré had to admit that her nephew has done a very nice work on it and the quality of the sounds and images were crystal clear. She waited for it to yield more information on the topic that Jean seemingly purposefully had avoided.

 _“Mama, what happened?”_ it was Adrian’s tender sweet voice that broke the fifteen minutes long silence. Audré, even though she knew the boy would be safe, clutched over her heart and sighed in relief.

 _“Mama made sure no that evil can ever reach my little rabbit.”_ Came Jean’s assured reply. She, too, seemed relieved to have her son back, unharmed.

 _“You mean the evil witch?”_ Adrian piped. Audré frowned. Who was this evil witch?

 _“Evil has no real face Adrian.”_ Jean replied gently, _“It can be a witch, a wizard, a Muggle and even, in Lord Voldemort’s case, a boy like you.”_

 _“I am not a boy.”_ Adrian protested violently and Audré smiled, remembering how his innocent grey eyes had lit up at her addressing him as ‘little gentleman’. _“Who is Lord…Vol..dermot?”_

 _“It’s not Voldermot, little rabbit. It’s Voldemort_.” Jean corrected him, _“He was the evil witch’s master. He taught her and many other people to be cruel, to be bad. But he is dead now; like the evil witch is.”_

 _“Dead?”_ Adrian piped.

 _“Yes, Adrian, Lord Voldemort is dead.”_ It was Eva who spoke next, _“And the Wizarding world is indebted to your mother for the sacrifices and hard choices she made to make it happen. You should be proud of her.”_

Audré was staring at the mirror as if it was a long lost family relic that she had been slipped to her, unintentionally. Did Draco know what he has given her? He has given her a key to that secret he guarded so closely. Now she knew a few solid facts about Jean Granger.

This woman was born in England and was educated at Hogwarts during which time she became part of a group called Dumbledore’s Army formed by the world famous Harry Potter. She had made fake galleons for them, to inform them about their next meetings. She has also, according to Eva, sacrificed and made hard choices to bring Lord Voldemort down. How was it possible then that she’d end up in bed with Draco whose entire family were renowned Death Eaters?

Audré was too immersed in her own thoughts to follow the rest of the conversation between Adrian and Jean. Only two questions kept playing around her head: why was Draco so angry with Jean and why was Jean so afraid of Draco? What the hell happened between them?

It was the sound of someone pounding on the door that broke her perilous thoughts. For a split second Audré thought it was her suite’s door but then Jean’s voice came in through the mirror.

 _“Come in.”_ She bade someone.

 _“Mademoiselle Granger, Monsieur Undersecretary tells me that someone tried to pry into our guest’s privacy.”_ The hotel manager’s voice reached Audré’s ears and she immediately understood what has happened. _“I came to investigate the matter.”_ Leopold’s next statement firmed her assumptions.

 _“I don’t know if it’s prying but someone duplicated a copy of my son’s shirt, the one he was wearing at the Drawing Competition.”_ Jean stated.

 _“I see. Can I have the shirt please?”_ Leopold asked. A silence followed during which Audré waited anxiously, for the rest of the conversation to follow.

 _“I believe you know my field of expertise to not question my suspicions.”_ Jean broke the silence at last, _“I want a full probing of how and why it happened.”_

 _“Of course, of course. This matter will be dealt with utmost importance, I assure you, mademoiselle.”_ The hotel manager was telling Jean. _“This shirt will be handed to the Aurors and they will personally visit your suite and check if any other object has been sneaked in or taken away. Meanwhile, we can make arrangements for you to move to another suite, if you wish.”_

 _“No, I’m fine here. I have already made my own arrangements.”_ Jean declared confidently, _“I also want to know if and how someone can break into my suite in my absence.”_

_“I assure you, Mademoiselle, that The Palace Hotel is completely safe for all our guests. The Ministry of Magic looks over our security, directly and provides us with Palace Guards, whom we commonly refer to as Aurors. Thieves and plunders can never enter a suite. The place is protected and the Palace Guards check it every day. Whoever did this must have some other motives.”_

_“Such as?”_

_“It can be the paparazzis. Maybe they are interested in the kid who won ten thousand galleons. You said that Master Adrian had worn the original shirt for the Drawing Competition.”_

_“But how are they supposed to know which shirt he wore for the competition?”_

_“Let’s not waste our time in talking. Let the Aurors come, they’ll soon find out how, what and why this happened. With your permission, then, mademoiselle Granger.”_

Granger! Audré gasped as finally the true identity of Adrian’s mother dawned upon her.

Nostradamus! Jean Granger, the woman who said her field of expertise should suffice in declaring that her son’s shirt has been duplicated was the first female Curse Breaker of Gringotts! She was the one her son, Julian, has recently handed over to a diamond ring, to curse break it.

Audré took out her wand and the mirror vanished, leaving no trace that it ever existed. Slow and purposeful, she walked to her writing table and sat down, finally finding a way to discover who this Jean Granger was.

There was one man, she knew, who would be delighted to help her.

Professor Horace Slughorn.

Smirking, Audré dipped the quill in ink and started composing a letter to Morpheus’s old Head of the House. It seemed that time has come that she visited that school where all answers lay.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter 17: Whispers in the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this writing.
> 
> A/N: Thanks to everyone for comments, bookmarks, kudos and votes on the last chapter. Please let them keep coming.   
> This chapter is perhaps the longest chapter in any kind of written work, both fanfiction or original fiction, with a staggering number of 6! thousand plus+ words. Hence it took me almost three monthes to write, edit and update it. I hope the future updates will be more frequent.
> 
> Let me also point out that I am not here to please any shippers of Dramione or Draco or Hermione or anyone. I am not a Joker and this story is not a circus, written for your entertainment. If anyone finds this story distasteful they are asked to unfollow and leave. 
> 
> Warning: The Poisoned Apple is a story for mentally mature adults. There are and will be materials in it which requires thorough knowledge of human body, mind and relationships. Reader’s discretion is required.

** Chapter 17: Whispers in the Wind. **

**B** efore Adrian Thomas Granger came into being, his mother’s nightmares used to be regular ones. While they hardly qualified to be any memorable events, Hermione remembered quite a few of them very well.

The one she had on her Third Year was the most frightening of all nightmares she had until then. Pubertal hormones had started working on her and Hermione used to be more tired than usual with strenuous use of the Time Turner and increased load of homework. Harry and Ron were cold-shouldering her over Firebolt. Sirius Black had broken into the Gryffindor dormitory to murder her best friend, and that best friend was using a map to sneak out to Hogsmeade. Hagrid was upset about Buckbeak’s case. At that time Hermione was exhausted, angry and anxious, almost always. One of those nights, she remembered, when she managed to drag her tired body back to her room and fell on the bed, face down, she drifted into an uneasy slumber. In it, she saw herself using the Time Turner to attend Potions. Snape was asking them to hand over their essays on dittany. She handed it to him, and to her bewilderment, he waved it before the entire class, especially the Slytherins and jeered that last year’s topper has suddenly become yumpy. Freaked out, Hermione ran to him and snatched the essay which was actually her research for Buckbeak’s case. Snape, gleefully, took five hundred points from Gryffindor and they lost the House Cup. Harry and Ron broke their friendship with her and she had to attend Buckbeak’s funeral with a wailing Hagrid, alone.

That night Hermione woke up and finished an entire jug of water before leaving her bed. She took a long bath and when the morning came, she was the first person to leave the Gryffindor tower for library. There was no way she’d let Snape fail her or her House.

For almost two years after that nightmare, Hermione didn’t have any serious one. Then on the night before the O.W.Ls started, she had another. In this one, she saw herself failing spectacularly in all subjects while Crabbe passed, receiving the highest in their class since he had helped Umbridge to capture Grawp. The dream ended with her getting expelled from Hogwarts and being Filch’s secretary, helping him clean the castle and feed his beloved cat, Mrs. Norris, because the Hogwarts caretaker was the only person who’d employ her.

That night too, Hermione woke up and finished an entire jug of water. She was the first to arrive at library the next morning and start revising. There was no way she’d let Umbridge or any bridge on that matter, to fail her.

Hermione’s first nightmare about life outside Hogwarts occurred following their escape from Ministry of Magic. This night she saw Ron Splinching so badly that he left his head behind. His death was not shown but he was officially asked to join the Headless Hunt, to look for his lost head while Hermione and Harry continued the Horcrux hunt, alone.

That night Hermione woke up and spend the rest of it sitting beside a sleeping Ron, occasionally wiping away the sweat on his feverish forehead. When the morning came, she was first person to leave their tent, looking for something edible and nutritious for Ron. There was no way she’d let him die or suffer.

Life took a downward spiral from there and after the incident at Malfoy Manor, Hermione’s nightmares reached their highest frightening level. These episodes, when they occurred, were horrific, vivid, sickening and unspeakable. In it, she would see herself naked, beaten and fighting to break free until Malfoy won. She would wake up, cold, clammy, and her heart beating so loudly that it might awaken Adrian.

On those nights, she’d take a bath, scrub herself mercilessly to clean the taints and return to her bed, trying to sleep once again. She would hug Adrian tightly and try to remember every single happy memory she had about him: the day he was born, the day he called her ‘Mama’, the day he took his first step and tottered a for a while before crush landing into her outstretched arms. There was no way she’d let herself be defeated.

After Alexis left, Hermione sat for a long while, her eyes closed and loosely holding the box with the ruby ring inside. For the first time in living memory, she felt that the days of those nightmares were over. They’d never haunt her again. She’d never have to wake up, shaking uncontrollably and hating her body. She’d never have to take Dreamless Sleep again. She was going to get a good night’s sleep, in the arms of a man who would love and protect her. In fact, the effect of Alexis’s presence has already started. She has had the best dream of her life last night. There, she hasn’t resented to let go of the past and had moved on with her new life, in a cottage, with a different man and Adrian. That man had be Alexis, Hermione was sure, though like the redhead man, his face, too, was obscure. And that cottage she had stood before must be her new home. The dark days of Hermione Granger’s life has finally come to an end.

Someone was knocking on the suite’s door. Hermione composed herself, pocketed the box and answered it personally.

She found a small and professional looking group standing with their spines erect and chins aloft. Their leader, a man so stern looking that he could easily be passed as Professor McGonagall’s younger brother, greeted her politely.

“Bonjour Mademoiselle.” He bowed mechanically, “I am captain Gerwulf, Head of the Palace Guards.” He showed her the elite group, who were all dressed in rich cream robes with the emblem of palace guards, two wands crossed over a crown, over their chests, “Monsieur Leopold told us about an attempted robbery and or spying or both in your suite. We are here to investigate the matter.”

“Sure.” Hermione ushered them in, wondering why Leopold exaggerated the matter. The four Aurors, without a word, spread out and scoured the place. Their Head stood and examined her suite, a deep frown between his thick black brows.

“I sense unfamiliar spells.” He commented thoughtfully, sounding almost like Luna when she said she sensed Wrackspurts. “Have you placed any additional protective spells around here?”

“I have.” Hermione nodded, somehow liking the man for his professional attitude, “Whatever protection was placed here, Monsieur Gerwulf, was doubtlessly inadequate because someone _did_ break into my suite and took my son’s shirt.” She said, trying not to sound accusing, “after slipping a fake one.” She added.

“With due respect, Mademoiselle Granger,” Monsieur Gerwulf left his inspection and gave Hermione his fullest attention, “I’d have dismissed such claims if it were from anyone but you. Our spells have safeguarded generations of hotel guests. The Palace Hotel is the _most_ secured place in _entire_ Belgium.” He emphasized proudly, “But since you are the _Chief Curse Breaker_ of Gringotts, I can’t overlook your field of expertise. Do you suspect anyone?”

Hermione took a moment before replying. She did suspect someone. Jacob Jordeans. But that man was well respected in Belgium. She had no definite proof that he was after Adrian. It was just a feeling she had been having ever since she met him. Besides, Alexis has informed her that Draco Malfoy and his mother was at France on his aunt’s request and not because they have, by some impossible means, come to know about Adrian, the half-blood Malfoy.

“There was a witch in acid green robes, a reporter.” She replied, suddenly remembering the little incident at the Prize Giving Ceremony, “She seemed particularly interested in my son after he won the competition. She almost cornered us and started asking nonsense questions about my husband.”

“I see.” Monsieur Gerwulf commented, narrowing his dark eyes, “Acid green robes? Nonsense questions about your husband? There is only one person who fits that description. Celia De Smet.”

“Celia what?” Hermione asked, wondering if that woman was a distant cousin to Rita Skeeter.

“Celia _De Smet_.” Gerwulf replied bitterly and smacked his thin lips, “She was a special reporter for _The Daily Chariots_ until the Aurors arrested her trying to spy and blackmail the Minister’s Muggleborn wife.  Apparently the First Lady had refused to give her an interview about her conjugal life and why she couldn’t conceive a baby. Celia was sentenced ten monthes in the witch’s prison. She came out a year ago and started her own tabloid. _The Wicked Witches._ Loads of utter rubbish! I wouldn’t let my wife wipe our baby boy’s bum with it!” Gerwulf curled his lips in evident disgust, “Anyways, Mademoiselle, I assure that we’ll investigate the matter with utmost importance and keep you informed about it. The culprit, whoever it might be, will be apprehended and punished according our Law.” 

“Merci, Monsieur.” Hermione thanked Gerwulf and the Guards left, clearing the place of all the mirrors, large or small, wall or handheld and a few other innocent looking objects. She closed the door behind them and leaned against it, finally breathing in relief.

Strangely she could no longer feel the ominous presence of a grey cloud overcastting her mind. Now the sky was clear with specks of cottony white cloud that drifted lazily. All was well.

Eva and Gabrielle were talking in low whispers and Edmound was showing Adrian the Poison Dart Green Frogs that he and Gabrielle had caught on their outing when Hermione entered her friends’ suite five minutes later. They heard her coming in and looked up, hopeful.

“It is alright.” She held up hands and assured, feeling very happy to be able to do so. Today was her last day in Brussels and it would have spoiled the entire trip if the scenario was different. “The Palace Guards came and checked my suite. They removed everything that they thought was fishy. Their Head, Monsieur Gerwulf, promised to let me know about the progress.” She informed them with a bright smile, “Now I think we should have lunch. After that Adrian is going to take a nap.” Her eyes fell on the little boy who was listening, agape.

“But I hate naps!” Adrian complained heavily, “I want to go with uncle Edmound. He is going to buy a swordfish. It has two swords.”

“Your uncle is going to have his head cut with one of those swords if he so much as thinks about leaving this place.” Eva said sternly, dismissing the appeal before Hermione could, “We are going to France tomorrow and I don’t want him to land in hospital again with his bowels sticking out.”

“But the swordfish is completely safe, Eva!” Edmound protested, trying to convince his angry sister, “The shopkeeper told me that it made several holes on the tank wall but I reckon that’s because they are not feeding it well. If I could just…” he couldn’t finish when Gabrielle interrupted.

“Edmound,” She gave him a sweet smile, “please be a sweetheart and take care of Adrian. We ladies want to get ready for the festival tonight.”

“Okay.” Edmound tilted his head immediately and didn’t argue. Hermione suppressed a giggle.

 After the lunch, she put Adrian for an hour of nap and the boy, contrary to what he had claimed earlier, fell asleep right away. She opened her trunk then and scanned the dresses for something different to wear tonight.

It was strange. She, until this moment, hasn’t paid much attention to her attire as long as it was modest and covered her body well. Most of her dresses were blue, floor length and loose-fitting. She never wore jewelries or makeup. Biting her lip and tsk’ing in annoyance, Hermione stood before the open trunk.

What she was going to wear tonight? Eva and Gabrielle would definitely try to look their best. Wouldn’t she look ordinary beside them?

But did it matter at all? If Alexis truly loved her, he wouldn’t mind about her plain attire. He himself wasn’t very tip-top when it came to clothing. She could take a leaf out of his book and be at ease.

But was that a lame excuse she was giving herself? For Alexis the shape of her body or the measurement of her bosom might not matter. He may like her the way she was. He may have learnt to _accept_ it. But as a man, as a _patient_ man who has stood by her on every step, didn’t he deserve to be treated with respect by the woman he loved, the woman he has devoted himself to? Should she deprive him like she had deprived herself all these years? He wouldn’t be feasting on her body; he had never wanted to feast on her body. Then why should she let go of this opportunity to look special, to feel special, and to pamper the neglected Hermione who was trapped inside her body?

Deep in thought Hermione picked up the lilac robe she had worn on Adrian’s prize giving ceremony. She could wear that again, tonight. But somehow, her mind linked that robe to Jacob Jordeans and his cold stare, and she discarded the robe immediately. She went through the dresses once again and after finding nothing but the usual ones, was planning to wear a plain blue dress when Eva came and stood beside her.

“Can you help me pack Jean?” She asked, closing the lid of her trunk.

Hermione nodded silently and deciding to let the matter rest for now followed Eva out, leaving a sleeping Adrian. In the sitting room, Edmound was pickling the Poisoned Dart frogs and Gabrielle was helping him. It was very simple job but they both looking happy doing it together. Hermione left them alone and came to Eva’s suite.

“You know, Jean, I have always wondered which unfortunate woman was going to end up with my brother.” Eva went straight into her bedroom. The door of her closet was open and her clothes were heaped on her bed, beside an open trunk. “Do you know who packed Edmound’s trunk?” 

“Gabrielle?” Hermione suggested, answering two questions with one word.

Eva nodded thoughtfully, picking up a yellow summer dress and started folding it, “I never really liked Veelas, Jean, and you know that. They were so short-tempered and bossy. But when I sensed that Edmound and Gabrielle are serious about their relationship, I wondered.” She offered her the folded dress.

“I think Gabrielle and you are going to be fine,” Hermione, with a neat wave of her wand, cleaned the trunk and taking the dress from Eva, placed it in a corner, “if that is what you are so worried about. Even I used to think that about Fleur and her family. But the Delacours are not like that. They are one of the best families I know. Mother Apolline is better than any full-human I ever met.”

“It’s not that, Jean.” Eva shook her head, “I am not worried about Edmound or myself. I am worried about Gabrielle. She is so young! And you know Edmound. He’s so obsessed with anything that has an extra pair of fangs, or tentacles or pincers or sword or breathes fire or vomits acid. What if he gets hurt badly and Gabrielle has to spend the rest of her miserable life with him? What if she gets tired and leaves him? What if it doesn’t end well?”

“And you say _I_ am pessimistic!” Hermione gave Eva a look of slight scorn.

“It’s not about pessimism, Jean, it’s about reality.” Eva said solemnly, “I think it’s better that you talk about your expectations, your dreams, your goals with your future partner before you proceed into any kind of serious relationship. Like I told Dominique, when he proposed to me, that I can’t get married now. I want to build my career and stand on my own feet before I could think about marriage. What is the point of giving a commitment if you are not sure about keeping it? Life is nothing but an outcome of our choices. We choose well, we live well. We get carried away, we pay the price of it. Simple.” She shrugged.

Hermione listened but didn’t counter. Eva was right. Life indeed was the mixture of choices one made. Years ago, she had chosen Harry over Ron when he had asked her to leave him during their Horcrux hunt. Before that she had chosen the safety of her family and wiped herself off their memories. But the biggest choice of her life had been keeping Adrian. She had chosen him over Ron and all her dreams.

“He is here for you, isn’t he?” Eva’s quiet question broke her musings. Looking up, Hermione found her friend giving her a soul-piercing stare.

Hermione nodded, without meaning it consciously. She knew whom she was meaning. Alexis Delacour.

“Jean you’ll be very sorry if you turn him down.” Eva’s stare and words were steady, “He loves you. He _really_ loves you.”

Hermione didn’t say a word. Silent, she reached inside her dress pocket and retrieved the box Alexis had given her. She opened the lid and showed her friend the content.

“It’s beautiful!” Eva gasped, clapping over her mouth, “Why aren’t you putting it on?”

“I…” Hermione wondered how to express herself. So much has happened in such a short period of time that it felt a bit hazy and overwhelmed. Alexis proposed to her, she rejected him, he proposed again and after a long conversation, she has accepted it. “Adrian will ask about it.” she mumbled, “We…er…Alexis and I still need to explain about us to him.”

“I am glad to hear that, Jean!” Eva’s eyes filled with tears of joy and leaving the dress she was folding, she hugged Hermione. “I am also glad…I am so glad that you have decided to give yourself a second chance! You are a brave, strong woman, Jean, and there is nothing…nothing you can’t do!”

Hermione returned the hug, her eyes closed and silent tears rolling down her cheek. Once upon a good time, when she was young, every time she imagined the day she’d be proposed, she had planned to ask her parents before giving Ron a positive answer. Now neither Ron nor her parents were with her. She was alone and the decision she has made was a huge one. On it depended the future happiness of Adrian and herself.

“Alexis is a great guy, Jean! He’s not the type to get carried away and make rash decisions.” Eva released Hermione, “He’s stable man. He’ll take good care of you, I know that. And if he didn’t…” she paused and Hermione frowned slightly, “…I’ll set loose on him one of Edmound’s Bombastic Boggarts. They’ll drop bombs on his head.”

Hermione laughed and they returned to their packing. She felt light inside. She felt cleansed. The decision she has made wasn’t just based on her feelings for Alexis. They have talked, made their points clear and decided to turn a new leaf in their lives. Telling Eva about Alexis’s first and second proposal they worked and soon were done with Eva’s dresses. They attended to her shopping next.     

“What are you wearing for tonight?” Eva asked, opening a shopping bag, checking the contents and closing it again.

“Don’t know.” Hermione shrugged. She was bitter once again, now that the topic came up.

“Don’t tell me you are wearing one of your blue dresses, Jean.” Eva assessed it right and gave Hermione a dark look, as if she has asked her to marry one of those Poison Dart Frogs Edmound had caught, “It’s a _festival,_ remember?”

“It’s not a real festival, Eva,” Hermione told herself than her friend, “It’s just a flower carpet, not a Ball or something.”

“Ball or not, Jean, if you so much as think about wearing any of those frumpy and grandma dresses, I am having Madame Delacour called up here. She’ll put her bride straight.” Eva said dismissively, “For Nostradamus’s sake, you are engaged, Jean! And you are going out with _that_ man!”

“For _Merlin’_ s sake Eva, I am not wearing anything that makes me look like a hot chick!” Hermione protested with equal vigour, “Don’t forget I am a _mother_. I should look and dress as one.”

“Who said mothers have to look unattractive?” Eva demanded, her hands on her hips and looking almost like Molly Weasley scolding her sons, “I knew you’d say that. That’s why I bought this.” She threw a shopping bag at her. It landed neatly in her arms.

Slightly perplexed, Hermione peeped inside.

It was beautiful, the gift from her friend. Inside there was a long, white, ruffled skirt with beautiful floral prints on it and a mint green shirt. Their combination went very well with the summer. It was refreshing and just the thing she’d love to wear to celebrate a festival of flowers and a new relationship.

“There is a sale going on in a Muggle shop.” Eva way saying, examining Hermione’s critical expression with caution, “I know you are not comfortable with revealing dresses and that’s fine. We all have our tastes. But that doesn’t mean you can’t look your best in whatever you wear.” She smiled apprehensively, “I did check if the skirt reached the floor and the shirt was loose enough to cover your curves. They said…” she couldn’t finish. Hermione threw the bag aside and engulfed her friend into a tight hug.

“I love you, Eva!” She said, “I love you all! You, Edmound, father, mother, Gabrielle, Fleur, Bill!”

“You forgot Alexis.” Eva added, playfully teasing her, “Tell me, did he kiss you? I’ll give him an _Order of the Hercules_ if he succeeded in _that_!”

Hermione didn’t protest to the merciless tease, nor did she answer her question. She only hugged her friend tighter and Eva understood what she meant.

“Congratulations!” she patted on Hermione’s back, “Congratulations, dear!”

It was not clear whom she congratulated more: Alexis for finally persuading Hermione or Hermione for finally accepting Alexis. But Hermione didn’t care.

All she knew, in her heart, was that she was happy to have Alexis.

•••••

Alexis Delacour has waited so long for this dawn to arrive and now that it has finally come, he was in a fix. Where should he begin? How should he start?

With the opening of Flower Carpet Festival at Grand-Place just hours away, Alexis had returned to his quarter, reliving every moment of that conversation with Hermione that ended up unexpectedly but not undesirably, with two kisses. Even he hadn’t expected to act so fast, but now that it has happened, it seemed neither of them regretted it. Hermione needed a way to be assured that his affections for her were genuine and his intentions, honorable. He too needed to affirm himself that he could handle the situation, no matter what people whispered about his manhood. Manhood, his father has taught him, wasn’t a big phallus sticking out of one’s crotch, nor the ability to bed numerous women, as it was portrayed in literary works. Real manhood was taking responsibilities, creating a family, being loyal to his partner, and uniting everyone with different dreams, under the same roof. Could he do all that? Could he help Hermione heal? Could he be a good father to Adrian? Could he and Hermione bring up the boy to be a man very different from his real father? Could he bind them all together and make a family of his own?

Alexis spent the afternoon pondering on the points. There was so much to do, so much to plan before he and Hermione could start their own little family. They must first discuss how they’d explain it to Adrian. The kid needed a thorough understanding of the events that’d soon follow: what was his relationship with his mother, what marriage was and what Alexis would be to him, step-father or father. Next he would court Hermione properly and give her the time she’d require to accept him, not only mentally but physically and spiritually. That was bound take time but he was ready to wait now that things were finally looking up.

So lost was Alexis in his thoughts that when the evening news was delivered by an owl post, he checked the wrist watch to find it seven o’clock already. He unrolled the newspaper, deciding to go through the main columns before preparing for the festival. There was nothing much to do.   He’d take a bath and put on his usual attire.

Alexis opened the newspaper. On the first page of L’Echo, there was a six by four inches black and white moving photograph of a Muggle newspaper that displayed the following headlines:

_Woman vanishes during live TV broadcast!_

_Alien attack in the city?_

Underneath it was another headline, written in smaller fonts but of more importance.

_International Statute of Secrecy in threat!_

_The Ministry calls for an urgent enquiry!_

Realizing full well what it meant, Alexis read the news that followed breathlessly.

 _12 th August, 2004: As the city of Brussels prepares for the Flower Carpet Festival to unfold, _writes Senior Reporter to L’Echo, Maria Coppens _, with thousands of tourists pouring into the Belgian capital, the existence of magical community is put to stake by senseless act of a witch who chose to apparate while a live television broadcast was underway. A Muggle reporter was talking before the camera when startling her, the cameraperson shouted and claimed seeing a woman who just vanished behind the said reporter. No one believed him first but when he ran the footage containing this peculiar phenomenon, a panic attack ensued. It is now being run on every television channel across Europe, and on internet (the Muggle variety of Floo network) as millions of Muggles ask the same question: was it some alien (creatures that Muggles believe live on Mars) invasion?_

_When contacted the Mayor of Brussels was unavailable to answer any questions._

_While securities around the Laan Grote Markt and Town Hall has been tightened, with Aurors checking everyone in and out and making sure that they are properly dressed, it seems that the mayhem has no end. Just a few days ago, some eye-witnesses shared with this reporter, that an innocent Muggle girl named Nancy had her nose grown alarmingly fast in a shop full of Muggles! How the authorities could ignore such an atrocious act, is beyond the comprehension of most notable magical personalities of our time. They have called for an immediate investigation and asked the mayor to step down should he fail to perform his duty properly._

The rest of the article was full of statements from various pureblood wizards who firmly protested against the Muggleborn mayor continuing on the post. They seemed unable to comprehend the fact that being a Muggleborn was actually a credit for they are born and brought up with Muggles. They could become wonderful wizards and witches.

Reading the article, Alexis was reminded him what Malfoy had done to Hermione and how the French Minister for Magic, another Muggleborn, faced difficulty on every step. The world, with all its advancements, hasn’t changed much. It was still a perilous swamp for Muggleborns.

The Palace Hotel wasn’t very far from the Ministry’s Guest House and at half past eight, dressed in usual black and white, Alexis started for it on foot. Unlike most wizards who liked to apparate to their toilet seats, he preferred walking. It gave him a purpose. It helped him to observe the surroundings and appreciate the beauties the world had to offer. The alleys were buzzing with the one news that seemed to be the talk of the town tonight: the witch who apparated before a Muggle camera. On the occasion, pubs were roaring with business.

An old woman was selling flowers on a corner of the alley. Alexis came to a stand before the small makeshift shop and examined the collection.

From violet to blue to yellow, like a rainbow, flowers from every colour and variety greeted his eyes. There were bold begonias, laughing daisies, spellbinding roses, dandling calla lilies and sweet peonies. There were flowers he didn’t even know existed. He stood there for a full minute. What should he buy for Hermione?

“Need some help boy?” the shop owner witch asked with a kind smile.

Boy! Alexis, in his mind’s eyes, saw an Adrian vehemently protesting when called a ‘boy’. He, however, didn’t.

“I…er…” He took more care to examine the flowers this time and failed again.

“Is the girl your wife? Or a lover?” the witch asked, reading his confusion very well.

“Both.” Alexis replied confidently.

“Then give her these.” The witch carefully chose, from among the bunch of dazzling white daisies, a handful of best ones, “Remember, give your lover roses and your wife, orchids. But when your lover is your wife, give her daisies. It refreshes your relationship.”

Alexis thanked the witch and bought the daisies. For a split second he wondered if he should ask her about the variation of flowers. Why was rose for lovers and orchids for wives? Then he thought better of it and left for his destination.

The Palace Hotel was in a festive mood too with the witches wearing wreaths of begonia, the official flower of Flower Carpet, on their head and the wizards displaying a boutonniere of the same flower, boldly on their robes. Like everyone Alexis had passed on his way to the hotel, they were talking about the witch on the evening news.

“Look at her guts!” a young receptionist cried, “Apparating before a Muggle camera!”

“And these Muggles! They are so weird!” Her companion opined wisely, “Look at their Floo! We use it to travel and they use to watch news. Pathetic!”

Alexis understood that they were talking about internet. He decided to visit the manager’s office first and enquire on the progress of the investigation before going to Hermione’s suite.

The Manager, Monsieur Leopold, to his slight embarrassment, was found having dinner with a guest. Alexis politely refused his offer to join them, seeing that the guest was a lady with her back turned on him.

“I am very sorry to disturb you, Monsieur Leopold.” He offered a sincere apology, “Please continue. I just came to know how the investigations are going.”

Leopold wiped his mouth on a napkin after a dignified burp and glanced over his shoulder at the lady. “The Palace Guards have already checked Mademoiselle Granger’s suite and cleared the place of any possible spying objects. Rest assured, Monsieur Undersecretary, we are giving it our highest priority.” He said importantly.

“Thank you and have a good night.” Alexis bowed slightly and left the hotel manager be. The seventh floor corridor was almost deserted when Alexis came out of the lift. As he walked, he remembered Hermione’s wild and tear stricken face when she had almost thrown herself on Adrian and engulfed him into a tight hug. Exactly how terrified should a woman like her be to behave such a way need no telling. Her deep seated fear for Draco Malfoy was still ruling over her life. Could he pull her out of that hell?

“Uncle!” as always Adrian greeted him when a loud cry and came running, jumping into his open arms, “Look!” he showed him the orange T-shirt he was wearing. There was dragon on it which when breathed, flowers came out instead of fire. “Uncle Edmound did the trick!” he said happily.

“How very thoughtful!” Alexis smiled and kissed softly on Adrian’s forehead. A man would be mad to not want, cherish and dream to have such a boy as a son. Adrian was a gift, a blessing no matter how he was conceived. He deserved all the happiness in the world just as his mother did.

“Did you see the news?” Edmound asked conversationally once he joined him on the sitting area, showing the evening issue of L’Echo that lay on the table, “It’s an uproar! I hope they don’t call off the festival.”

“They won’t.” Alexis assured and helped Adrian climb on his lap. The boy sat there, comfortably and noticed the bouquet he had bought for Hermione.

“Uncle, you brought flowers for me?” he asked brightly, admiring the beautiful white daisies, “I love flowers! I love drawing them!”

“I know you do.” Alexis ruffled his adorable curls, “Where is your Mama?” he enquired noticing the absence of ladies in the suite.

“Mama is a lady.” The boy informed him of the unknown fact, slightly pompous, “She is getting ready.”

“Mama is a lady. She is getting ready.” Alexis repeated after him, noticing the natural rhyme, “That’s a nice poem. Have you told this to Jean?”

“No, but I will.” Adrian replied, “Uncle, Mama was a bit angry this morning. She didn’t like it when I told her about Monsieur Monette.”

“How do you know?” Alexis frowned, marveled by the five and half years old’s perception power.

“I know. She is my Mama.” Adrian replied proudly. “I am her man.”

“Of course, you are.” Alexis nodded, wondering how difficult it would be to explain to him that he too was eager to be his Mama’s man. “Why don’t you go and give these flowers to your Mama?” he offered him the bouquet, “Gentlemen give flowers to their ladies.”

“Okay.” Adrian piped and taking the bouquet from Alexis, jumped down his lap and ran for the door. He opened it and disappeared. Before the door closed, Alexis caught a glimpse of him entering Eva’s suite. So Hermione was getting ready there? Interesting!

“Congratulations Alexis!” he heard Edmound and turning to the man, he saw him offering his right hand. “Gabrielle told me everything. I am so happy for Jean! I hope you take care of her. She’s my best friend and as good as a sister. I never saw her any other way.”

“Thank you.” Alexis took Edmound’s hand and shook it, relieved that it all came to a happy end for all of them, “I hope you take care of my sister too, Edmound. Gabrielle is the apple of my eyes.”

“I’ll try my best.” Edmound grinned sheepishly, “Actually I never thought she’d accept me. I am such a…” he paused, fumbling for a word, “…weirdo…if you know what I mean. Eva gets angry whenever she sees me with animals. She thinks they are dangerous. But they are just fine.”  

“I think she gets angry because you are her twin and she fears losing you.” Alexis explained calmly, remembering Hermione’s reception of the Monsieur Monette issue, “They care for us and the anger is part of that care.”

Edmound nodded, though it was not clear how much he agreed to that statement, “So…er…when are you two getting married?”

“It will take a while.” Alexis replied solemnly, though inside flowers bloomed and butterflies fluttered in his stomach, “Jean needs time to heal. We also need to sit down and explain it to Adrian. That little boy is no short of a Knight when it comes to protecting his _Mama_. It’s very natural that he might feel resentful or angry if I get too close to Jean even when she becomes my wife.”

“I understand.” Edmound commented thoughtfully, “But I think you can do it, Alexis. I’ll talk to maman about Gabrielle.” his ever cheerful features lightened up.

“There is no hurry to get married, Edmound.” Alexis assured him, “Gabrielle is only seventeen. Fleur married when she was twenty. Before that, she spent a year in England, with Bill’s family, to know them well. I assume my parents will not have an exception in Gabrielle’s case either. So take your time and know each other well. A marriage is a big decision.”

Edmound was about to reply when the door opened. Eva and Gabrielle came in with Adrian in tow. They were both dressed in Muggle outfits and looking their best.

“I hope they didn’t cancel the festival.” Eva enquired as soon as she saw Alexis, sitting languidly, “These people! They know just the moment to spoil a fun.” She huffed.

“The mayor will never call off the festival.” Alexis replied from his experience, “It’s the best chance he has to prove that he can handle everything perfectly. It’ll shut the mouths of those who dislike him.”

“Uncle, I gave Mama the flowers.” Adrian piped, looking very pleased with himself, “She liked it a lot.”

“Adrian, why don’t we go and see if the festival has started?” Gabrielle offered, stealing a glance at his brother, “It’s almost ten.”

“Okay.” Adrian tilted his head, “What about Mama?” he looked past Gabrielle through the still open door, “We wait for her.”

“Your Mama is coming just behind us.” Eva assured the boy with a too charming smile, “Edmound, why aren’t you telling Adrian _that_ story?” She demanded pointedly from her brother.

“What story?” Edmound looked bewildered.

“That one where you nearly died when a poison slug bit you.” Eva gave her brother a deliberate glare, “When you were seven. Remember?”

“Oh yeah! But that wasn’t a poison slug, Eva.” Edmound protested and stood up, finally deciphering the subtle hint his sister was giving him to leave Alexis and Jean alone, “Slugs don’t bite. They don’t have teeth or tongue. They have a special organ called radula that has thousands of tiny protrusions that help them grind up their food.”

“Okay, okay.” Eva was close to grinding Edmound under her radula, “Now can we please listen to that _thrilling_ story?” She looked down at the little boy and smiled charmingly, “Let’s go Adrian. Mama is coming just behind us.”

Adrian didn’t protest and the left, listening to Edmound’s story of the poison slug. Alexis stood up, wondering what was keeping Hermione so long. Was something wrong? Was she still mad at him? But if so why would she tell Adrian that she liked the flowers he has brought for her?

Alexis started pacing. Suddenly he was feeling restless. If everything was fine then why did he always fear losing Hermione?

The door opened again. Alexis whipped around. Was Adrian back for his mother? But no, no boy with silvery blonde curls ran in. Instead a pair of chocolate brown eyes was peeping at him, looking shy and hesitant. For Alexis, time stopped.

_He was standing on a platform of Gare du Nord, the North Station of Paris, beside his mother. They were waiting for a woman who’d be arriving from England. The Muggle train bringing her, EuroStar, has arrived at Paris long ago but the woman whose name was Hermione Granger was yet to come._

_Alexis was never an impatient man. As his mother asked if they should part and look for the girl separately, he shook his head and scanned the crowd. Then he saw her. She was a young woman, still in her teens and approaching their pair cautiously. What was it about her that caught his attention Alexis didn’t know? She had big brown eyes, timid as a gazelle’s. They were brilliant. He blinked. Was this Hermione Granger, the brain of Golden Trio?_

_Alexis has imagined many faces for Hermione Granger. In his imagination, she was a stern looking girl with a lot of scars on her face, fresh from the Battle of Hogwarts. She’d certainly do well as an Auror, he had thought. After the War, when Fleur sent them a letter telling about the incident and the culprit behind it, his face of her changed. This time the women looked weaker and with more scars._

_Alexis watched as the woman of his imaginations walked slowly to them. “Monsieur… Alexis Delacour?”She enquired.  Her voice was high pitched and tear-stricken. Had she been crying?_

_Whatever faces Alexis had imagined it certainly wasn’t even closer to the woman who stood before him. Like a full moon that came out of dark veils of cloud, this young lady was radiating brilliance and innocence. Her chocolate brown eyes were the heart of a storm that has destroyed the walls of his resistance. He was lost in them, forever and for always._

Time started again. Alexis was standing on a suite in the Palace Hotel. The woman who had captured his heart at Gare du Nord was staring at him, her eyes big and brown, just like that day. She left her shelter of the ornate door and walked to him, slowly. Her walk was the most graceful walk in the world. In a second she was standing before him.

Alexis reached out and caressed Hermione’s cheek, as gently as he could. She looked like a tender flower whose petals would fall off if he wasn’t careful. She looked up at him, her brown eyes slightly tearful. Alexis blinked. Could any woman be so beautiful, brilliant and bold?

“Jean!” He rasped, having difficulty to produce any comprehensible word.

Hermione didn’t utter a sound. She simply closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Alexis stared at her, at a loss of words. His extremities were numb. Was she silently asking him to kiss over her eyes again?

Alexis leaned forward, brought her head closer and very softly, gently and with all the love, admiration and respect he had for her, planted a kiss over the closed eyelids. Hermione exhaled. Her breath was scented with fresh peppermint.  

“Your touch is so safe, Alexis! It feels so good! I was never touched this way!” Hermione whispered breathlessly, placing her hands over his. Alexis saw his ruby ring sparkling in her left ring finger.

“If you like it so much, you’ll receive one kiss every morning…” He said, melting at the sight, “…after we get married.”

Hermione opened her eyes and looking into the chocolate mud pool, Alexis’s heart missed a beat. “I love the flowers you sent for me.” She whispered with a shy smile.

“I love the flower I am holding.” Alexis whispered back, feeling a gush of tender love for this beautiful woman, “She’s like a fresh daisy.” He released and examined Hermione from top to bottom. With a long floral print skirt and mint green shirt, she looked not less tempting than those flowers he had sent her; in fact, more.

“Eva bought them for me.” Hermione said, looking down at herself, “She wouldn’t let me wear my old dresses.”

“She’s amazing.” Alexis had to admire Hermione’s friend’s taste in clothing, “I should consult her too.” He looked down at his own boring black and white attire.

“Perhaps, I can help you there.” Hermione said slyly and came closer. For a split second, Alexis thought if she was going to kiss him. They were alone, standing very close and the moment was tender, an ideal setting for such an occasion. But surprising him, she conjured a boutonniere of pink rose and fixed it to his white shirt. Then she stood back and examined him, “Now, that looks better.”

Alexis sighed, wondering how someone as insignificant as him could be so fortunate to have someone like Hermione Granger in his life. “You want to know what I’ll tell maman when she asks me about you?” He asked playful.

Hermione nodded, frowning slightly.

“What I’ll tell her is…” Alexis brought their faces closer and fixed his gaze to Hermione’s brilliant brown eyes. They were at a perfect kissing distance and yet kissing her didn’t tempt him anymore. He had a better idea.

 _“Maman! Maman! Maman!”_ he started reciting,

_I love Adrian’s Mama!_

_I don’t have a red pajama!_

_But I love Adrian’s Mama!_

Hermione burst into a laugh, its rich sound filling up the gaps, cracks and crevices of Alexis’s already tender and lost heart. He watched her with admiration. She looked younger and more innocent when she laughed like that. How he’d love to see her laugh like that! Forever!

“You should laugh more often.” Alexis said longingly, “It rains when you laugh. Jean.”

Indeed it did. It rained when Hermione laughed, when Adrian laughed. 

Life was beautiful! Life has never been this beautiful!

•••••

People should know better when they said life was beautiful, Audré was of opinion. On what qualities did something as complex as life could be called beautiful, was unfathomable to her. Reality was bitter, life was deceitful and complicated; people were distrustful, accusing, ungrateful and backstabbers.

Audré was, therefore, manipulative, calculating and when she’d allow it to admit to herself, strangely lonely.

In a world where her gender was the second, having brains was considered less important than being happily married and having children, and men eyed them more with desire than with respect or fair consideration, she wouldn’t bow to a man’s wish simply because he was of supposedly superior qualities due to possession of a specialized gender. She was Audré and she never settled for such nonsense. Men would never drive her. She’d drive them and use them, manipulate them and change the course of events on her favour.

Deeply immersed in her thought about what she had overheard through Draco’s enchanted mirror, Audré returned to St. Waltrude’s to find her nephew still unconscious. The Healers were doing their best, especially a man named Thys, she noticed. Healer Thys was the same man who had empathized with Draco and said that it was a miracle that he was alive after sustaining such great losses. He seemed to have developed a very soft spot for his patient and was taking more care than usual. Audré certainly had no complaints about that. While the Healer asked the nurse for an hourly follow-up of her nephew and left, she employed her thoughts elsewhere, in solving the problems at hand.

The first and most important issue, as most common people would disagree, was to stop the investigation on Adrian’s duplicated shirt. That was the most crucial point, the shirt. Her damned nephew has unwittingly used a Gemenio Spell to duplicate it, making only one copy. The other evidences, notably the mirrors, Audré knew, couldn’t be tracked to Draco. Protean Charm was one of those very rare spells that could link numerous objects, thus making it almost impossible to pin-pointed the caster and trace it back to him or her.

The next issue was what most common people would emphasize most and give the highest priority: Draco and Jean’s relationship. But she being Audré Chombrun Malfoy, with brain in her head and not in her crotch, couldn’t indulge in such moronic weaknesses. She has played her part in solving that problem. Olympe and Horace Slughorn, both would soon receive a letter from her. Now everything would be answered in due course of time.

Afternoon came and went, just as the morning had come and went, leaving no difference in the atmosphere whatsoever. The recommended twelve hours was over and Draco’s condition, according to Healer Thys, was still unchanged. How he suddenly passed out like that was the biggest enigma for Audré. Was Healer Thys right? Has Draco really tried to commit suicide?

But why would he do so when he finally had a meaning in his life to live for? Draco was a Slytherin and they believed in self-preservation, no matter what the situation called for. Besides, Adrian wasn’t completely gone. Her nephew had just failed to procure hair from Edmound to use on a Polyjuice Potion. Was that enough to kill himself?   

Audré sighed and ran a hand through Draco’s hair. They were slightly wet. It was true that he was Lucius’s son but she has, no matter what people regarded her as, never begrudged the dead, the weak and the ill. Only cowards took pleasure in defeating those weaker than them.

Her hand still running through Draco’s slightly wet hair, Audré pinched the bridge of her nose. Should she notify Narcissa? As his aunt, she could take good care of Draco but what would she answer to Narcissa if, Nostradamus forbid, something really bad happened? That she wasn’t careful enough and Draco committed suicide? Would Narcissa believe her? Wouldn’t she think that Audré has taken out her old anger on Lucius Malfoy on his son and killed him?

No. Narcissa wouldn’t.

But it was not the fear of false accusations that kept Audré from informing Narcissa about Draco. After what she had learned through the mirror about Jean Granger, she was looking forward to her once feared England trip eagerly now. This trip was the only golden opportunity she had to investigate the matter concerning Draco and Jean more fully. Could she allow Narcissa to come running to Brussels, to fuss over her only son, cancel their England trip and return to France?

Deep in contemplation, Audré’s eyes fell on the shirt her nephew was still grasping firmly. It was Adrian’s and the one behind all these troubles: his screaming of _‘That shirt is more worth than you are!’_ , her leaving him alone in anger and later, Jean Granger’s discovery that someone was spying on her son when she found his shirt duplicated. But there was a piece, an important piece that Audré felt was missing from this puzzle.

Audré frowned and using very gentle hands, extracted the shirt from Draco’s death grip. She held it before her eyes. Even in its crumpled state, she could see there was a red hue smeared over the left side of the shirt. The red colour of Headache Potion had spilled over the place that roughly corresponded with the heart. Adrian’s heart.

Blinking and not knowing why, Audré ran a hand through Draco’s hair. They were slightly wet. She brought her nose close to the hair and sniffed. The faint scent of damp rainwater reached her nostrils.

“Is everything alright, Madame?” a female voice asked, and turning her head, Audré saw it was the nurse who’d been recording hourly follow-ups of her nephew. She must have come to give the next follow-up again and found her, apparently, sniffing Draco’s hair.

“I was just wondering why his hair is so wet.” Audré replied truthfully on purpose.

“We didn’t do it.” The nurse replied nonchalantly and walked to the patient’s bed, taking up the recording chart on her way, “Monsieur Malfoy’s clothes were already wet when he was brought to us. We changed it here. His hair was also wet. Was he found in the shower?”

Audré took it that the nurse was thinking that her nephew had tried to drown himself in the bathtub and shook her head. Draco’s body was already lifted on a stretcher and covered with a bed sheet by the time she had reached his suite. At that time, she was more concerned with getting him to hospital and hadn’t paid much attention to his clothes.

Something told her there was a great mystery behind this and the earlier she started an investigation, the better and conclusive would be the results.

“Madame, we are here to look after Monsieur Malfoy.” The nurse finished giving the follow-up, checked her watch and gave Audré a gentle and assuring smile, “He’s stable now. You can go and take some rest.”

“Merci, sister.” Audré smiled back and stood up. She ran a final hand over Draco’s wet hair and sighing deeply, left his cabin. How could she sleep tonight when there was so much to do?

The festivities on the Brussels’s streets didn’t echo what Audré felt inside as she walked back to the Grand-Place. The volunteers were almost done setting the Flower Carpet and Muggles were watching them work. Television cameras were making a live telecast with reporters standing and talking before the cameras with microphones. With so much light, the night looked almost as bright as a day. Audré stood and watched them for a while. Muggles always fascinated her, with their simple use of intelligence to solve most problems. She was watching them, immersed in her own thoughts when something or better say someone caught her eyes.

An attractive lady, in an acid green tweed suit was walking in a manner that told her she was not a Muggle. For a moment, Audré’s eyes followed the lady’s movements unconsciously, as if her instincts knew that something was about to happen here. Then to prove her assumptions right, the green lady positioned herself behind one of the numerous cameras, and the next thing Audré knew was, she has vanished while the Muggle camera was running before her!

She being a witch, it took Audré exactly five seconds to understand what has just happened. As the cameraman shouted, stopped rolling the camera and started telling everyone that a woman has just vanished, she left the place hurriedly. Town Hall, the portal to Laan Grote Markt was just a few meters away.

Once inside the protective boundaries of the Wizarding Brussels, Audré walked faster than she usually did. She paid no heed to what people talked about or walked to. The lady in green was no concern of hers. She needed to get to Draco’s suite before it was cleaned.

By the time Audré reached the Palace Hotel, the place was buzzing with rumours about a witch who had apparated before a live Muggle camera. Bad news, it seemed, traveled faster than wild fire. Audré kept her mouth shut, and crossing the reception desk, took the lift to her floor. She’d not meddle in businesses that were not hers.

Draco’s suite was empty when Audré entered it fifteen minutes later. She walked to his bedchamber where he was discovered lying unconscious.

The room, as it should be when it was under the occupation of an esteemed Malfoy, was pretty untidy. While there were no unwashed clothes strewn across the floor or no crumpled sock lied on a table, it had a look of masculine neglect. Audré scanned the room and sighed. Her instincts told her there was something here, something that went missing when she had come here last night. What was it?

There was a faint patch of darkness on the carpet, shaped like a man. Audré walked to it, squatted and touched the place. Like Draco’s hair, it was still wet. Her eyes then fell on a table next not very far from the spot she was examining. It seemed moved away from its original position. What has happened here?

Audré straightened up, now scrutinizing every inch with care. Draco’s bed was still unmade. Hasn’t the Room Service shown up in the morning? The old bed sheet was still in its place. There was a faint red hue on it. Audré knew what it was. The Headache Potion.

Her eyes next fell on the broom that lay carelessly at the foot of the table that has been moved. She was no great expert of broomsticks but the twigs in the tail and the well polished handle had a damp look about them. Where has all that water come from?

Audré closed her eyes and tilted the head deep in thought.

It struck her like a lightning bolt.

Rain! It had rained last night, when she was writing to Olympe! Everything was clear now. Draco used a broomstick to get into Adrian’s suite. It was still damp, the wood darkened with water. He must have gone out in the rain. The place he was lying unconscious before he was discovered by the cleaning staff was that patch of darkness on the carpet. The table was where he must have hit himself before collapsing. But the big fat question still remained unanswered.

Why Draco went out in the rain?

“You are here, Madame Malfoy?” A voice came, breaking her contemplation on the most crucial of moments, “And I was looking everywhere!”

Audré opened her eyes, slowly turned on the spot, with every mind to snap at the intruder when the Hotel Manager came into view. He was smiling brightly at her.

“The reception staff told me that you have returned.” Monsieur Leopold said, his eyes twinkling, “I thought I’d come and enquire about Monsieur Malfoy. How’s he now?”

“He’s doing fine.” Audré was having a queer feeling that that was not why the manager had followed her to this suite.

“That’s great news! Madame Malfoy…er…” Monsieur Leopold cleared his throat audibly, “Could I…invite you for a humble supper with me? At my office?”

A humble supper with the hotel manager? At his office? Audré stared.

“I know you are very tired…and…and your nephew is at the hospital.” The man was continuing without letting her speak for once, “I thought I’d take the opportunity to…er…to…to help you come out of the tension. You are, after all, my dear guest.”

She was _his_ dear guest? Audré blinked. It took at most ten seconds for the wheel of her mind to shift its attention from Draco to the hotel manager. Her blue eyes roved down the small round form of Monsieur Leopold Duquesnoy. No. He has never failed to show her a courtesy, or help her, or appear very well dressed before her. But until this moment, she had taken it as little acts to uplift his hotel’s name before the pureblood noble guests. But now? Why Leopold had shown such interests in her, why he had cared to accompany her to the hospital or invited her for a dinner, personally, though it was not the hotel manager’s duty, was suddenly very clear to Audré.

He fancied her.

As soon as the answer came in her mind, Audré started laughing. Leopold fancied her? Her! The great manipulator Audré Chombrun Malfoy! The widow of Morpheus Malfoy! The mother of two and almost half a century old woman!

Audré laughed, its sound echoing across the spacious bedchamber and magnifying manifold. Monsieur Leopold stared at her. It was clear from his bewildered expressions that he was wondering if she has gone mad from the shock of almost losing her nephew.

Audré laughed for full five minutes. No matter what she did, it just wouldn’t stop. Several times, she tried to control herself but the moment she imagined the hotel manager’s fascination, it would come like bubbles out of a soda bottle.

“Madame, are you alright?” Monsieur Leopold seemed unsure about her sanity.

Audré nodded and with extreme difficulty, finally stopped laughing.

“I am, Monsieur.” She cleared her throat and declared, though internally she was still laughing her lungs out. “I just remembered something very funny, a joke about _humble supper_.” She covered up smoothly, “I hope I haven’t frightened you.”

“Of course…of course not, my dear lady!” Leopold shook his bald head violently though his expressions stated otherwise, “It’s very normal, Madame, to want to get rid of extreme tension and what could be better than a good laugh?” He tried to explain her odd behaviour his own way, “In fact,” he erected his spine and cleared his throat importantly, “I am proud to be the one who made you laugh.” he declared, looking very pleased with himself.

Indeed, he should be at this stage, an amused Audré thought; but that didn’t concern her much. Leopold could dwell in his little fancy for her and she couldn’t care less. For her, the way to stop the enquiry on Adrian’s duplicated shirt has finally arrived. The man who could do that was inviting her to a private dinner and if circumstances permitted, she could use some of her _other_ talents to get her mean done.

“Merci, Monsieur,” Audré courtesied with a very charming smile of hers, “and I shall be very pleased to accept your invitation.” She said, starting to leave for the door with the manager on tow. He had a new spring on his steps now. “I just came here to check if Draco received any letters from Narcissa, my sister-in-law and this is what I found.” She gestured at the unmade suite in general, “Is there any particular reason why the cleaning staff should avoid it?”

“Actually it was me who told them to keep it as it was.” The manager replied with a sheepish smile, “I thought that you might want to know what happened to your nephew and how. You know, if he really committed suicide?”

Audré was impressed and thankful at the manager’s quick thinking. “You are cleverer than you appear, my dear Monsieur Leopold.” She complemented truthfully, her charming smile prevailing. “I know you have our best intentions in your heart. But…” she paused, creating a mysterious and confident ambience about her, “…Draco didn’t commit suicide. My nephew is not that kind. Had he wanted that, he could have done that monthes ago.”

“Thanks Nostradamus!” Leopold clutched over his heart and sighed in relief, “Honestly, no manager would want his esteemed guest to commit suicide. It’s an awful lot of paperwork and investigation! Guests stop coming and he hotel is doomed forever.”

Audré nodded and they reached her suite. Like a pompous gentleman, Leopold unlocked the door and held it open for her while she waited.

“See you at dinner then.” Audré stood on the threshold and waved him a small but assuring goodbye. Leopold’s nose reddened like a glistening cherry and he left after a courteous bow. Audré watched his retreating form and when it disappeared round a corner, entered her suite. Her eyes immediately fell on the postal service tray. There were letters on it, waiting for her to open them.

Feeling calm and purposeful, Audré walked the seating area and slumped on a couch. She Summoned the letters. One by one they flew out of the tray and landed neatly on her lap. The topmost and the latest one bore a seal. Audré picked it up and examined the ornate H with four animals around it: a lion, a snake, a badger and a raven. Hogwarts. She flipped it and found the sender to be none but Professor Horace Slughorn. With fervent fingers, she tore the side of the envelope, retrieved the content and unfolded it.

Horace Slughorn’s letter was written on piece of olive green scented parchment with emerald green ink. It was watermarked with the crest of the Slytherins. His writing, in Audré’s opinion, was pretty steady considering his age.

 _My dear Madame Malfoy,_ It read,

_I literally have no words to express the surprise, shock, joy and pride I felt upon receiving your letter. I must confess that it was something I never expected to happen. Morpheus was an old pupil of mine and a very favourite one. If my memory serves me well, it was the year 1963 that he was enrolled to Hogwarts and was Sorted to my house, the Noble House of Slytherins. He and I shared a relationship more cordial than usual teacher and student; he was a clever and quiet fellow who had deep passion for potions, my subject. His observation power was excellent, and he had the uncanny ability to spot and stop the troublemakers. It was a blessing for me, as his Head of the House, for I had to hand out fewer detentions and could employ my mind and energy elsewhere._

_So this morning, when I received a letter from my favourite and clever pupil Morpheus’s better half, asking me for permission to visit Hogwarts, my joys knew no bound. I have already talked to our Headmistress and some of the other teachers who were here during Morpheus’s tenure. Everyone has assured me that they would be delighted to welcome you to our old and noble institution. Please let me know of a possible date of your visit so that I could make arrangements to have you brought here, at Hogwarts._

_I await your reply, eagerly._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor Horace Slughorn_

_Master of Potions and Head of the House, Slytherin, Hogwarts._

_Order of Merlin, second class, for outstanding courage during the Battle of Hogwarts._

_Senior Member of the European Potions Society._

_Joint Secretary to the Felix Legions, world’s only potion’s club for a lucky life._

Audré read the entire lest of Horace Slughorn’s credits and achievements, which were fifteen altogether, and chuckled remembering what her husband had told her about his teacher.

Horace Slughorn loved to be the king-maker rather than the king himself, and play his role subtly through his influential students and well-connected friends. He had a club formed for this purpose. It was called the Slug Club, where his most well-liked and to-be famous students were handpicked, invited and allowed to mingle.

But there was one thing Professor Slughorn hadn’t mentioned in his letter. As per Morpheus’s description, his Head of the House had never invited him to join his club because he thought Morpheus was too quiet for a Malfoy and wouldn’t fly high. Not that it mattered to her husband but somehow Audré found it interesting that Slughorn was keen to amend his past mistake now.

Audré composed a quick reply to Slughorn. She also made a mental note to buy some crystallized pineapples for him. Morpheus had, in one occasion, told her that they were Slughorn’s favourite. She attended to the second letter next. It bore seals of her old school, Beauxbatons, with two wands crossed over an ornate B. Knowing what was inside Audré opened the letter from Olympe Maxime.

 _Me Cherie Audré,_ it read,

_Should I scream at you or consider myself blessed that you finally remembered your old friend? Where are you these days? Tell me, dear, are you in love? Are you travelling? With your new lover? Is that why you are writing from Brussels? How old is he? Is he handsome? Is he…no, I think I should keep that naughty joke for our next meeting._

_So, how is everything at home? Are your children doing well? Is Julian still refusing to marry? Don’t worry dear. I have a very good candidate. She is my new Care of Magical Creatures teacher. She is young, reasonably good looking and smart. It would be a good match, I think. The girl is mighty fierce and will keep your Auror son tame._

_And how is Lillian, that stubborn daughter of yours? Is she seeing a guy or not? I still don’t know why she didn’t join the ministry! That’s a shame! She could have done very well there, with her brains and beauty and could have become the Minister for Magic one day._

_Enough talk, Audré. Now let’s get to the real point. I am really glad that you want to visit Hogwarts. It’s high time that you leave that exiled life and start to live once again. Morpheus, wherever his soul is, would never like to see that his dear wife suffer, would he?_

_As for the French guide you asked for, I know just the person who can help you. Fleur Delacour Weasley. She is an old student of mine, a favourite and_ _our Triwizard Champion in 1994. She fought very bravely at the Battle of Hogwarts and was honoured for that._ _She lives in England, with her husband and their little family. After I received your letter, I wrote to Fleur. She has replied that she’d be glad to accompany you to Hogwarts. I am enclosing her address with this letter. Contact her when you reach England._

_Hey, forgot to tell you. My eldest grandson is getting married this winter. You remember him, don’t you? The girl is from Russia and her French is horrible! You’ll receive an invitation and IF you miss the wedding, Audré… you know not to go on the wrong side of Olympe Maxime._

_Yours,_

_Olympe._

Audré shook her head and laughed, reading and rereading the letter, particularly the part about her new love interest. She knew Olympe had one, though she wouldn’t reveal his name to anyone. The late Monsieur Maxime’s widow, Madame Olympe Maxime, wasn’t interested in marriage anymore, thanks to her husband. But she definitely wouldn’t say no to a good and loyal male companion who could make her feel special. Audré decided to thank her friend and write in great detail about the _handsome_ man she’d be having a romantic candlelight dinner with, the bald and bumpy, Monsieur Leopold.

The third letter was from, Audré’s heart missed a beat, Narcissa Malfoy. She watched the envelope for a while, slightly apprehensive. Did she already know that her only son was unconscious? Has the hospital staff contacted her?

Audré fisted her hands and with one last decisive breath, tore open the envelope. A letter slipped out and she unfolded it, wondering what its contents could be.

 _Dear Audré,_ it read in Narcissa’s elegant writing,

_I hope everything is going well there. We are doing fine. Your Château is vast and there is more than enough room to stretch my legs. You children are good companions. Lillian and I walk in your gardens and talk. She really is a nice girl and I am not saying that for politeness’s sake. Julian took us to opera yesterday. It was a good one and for those few hours, I had forgotten all my dismays._

_How is Draco doing? I hope you didn’t tell him that we are keeping regular correspondence about what’s going on in Brussels. He will think that I am spying on him through you. My poor son! He is so stressed these days! But he was not like that, Audré, really! He used to be such a sweet boy and now…._

_As for Adrian, his son, I really have no idea how that can happen. Has he told you something…anything about her…the boy’s mother? Have you seen her, Audré? What is her name? Is she a pureblood witch? Is she a hooker? I am in a fix, Audré, I am in complete fix. I know my son. He is not that type, you know what I mean._

_I have contacted our manager who looks over the family matter when the Malfoys travel. That’s our Head House Elf, Morpy. He’ll take care of your arrangements to stay at the Malfoy Manor. You’ll be staying, if you don’t have any problem, at Morpheus’s old room. It had been closed for a while and must be cleaned and made habitable. Don’t worry! Morpy knows what to do to._

_I am pretty curious to know why you suddenly decided to visit England and that too from Brussels and not after returning to France. I could have accompanied you. I still can accompany you, if you like._

_Keep an eye on my son, Audré. I have entrusted him to your care. He is the only one I have now. I know it sounds weird, but I trust you._

_Your sister-in-law,_

_Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy._

Audré sighed and folded the letter before slipping it into its envelope, feeling somewhat relieved. No, Narcissa didn’t know about her son but her last words about entrusting her only son on her care had been very touching. Audré knew Narcissa was not lying. A mother never lied on these matters. Should she cancel the England trip, return to France and let Draco heal first? Should she visit England with Narcissa? But what use was it then? She wasn’t going there for a pleasant trip. She had no love for that country and most importantly Malfoy Manor. She’d be going there only because she was curious to know who this Jean Granger was and how she had a son with Draco. Would that be possible with Narcissa breathing down her neck? Hasn’t she made it clear in her letter that she was blaming the boy’s mother for it?

Deciding to give these complicated matters a rest and wait until Draco came round, Audré picked up the fourth and the last letter. She smiled, as soon as she identified the handwriting. Lillian.

Finally feeling happy to receive something that had no motives in it, Audré tore open the side of the envelope and extracted the scented blue parchment her daughter used while writing letters. She unfolded it.

 _Maman,_ Lillian’s cursive writing said,

_I miss you! I miss you! I miss you! And I love you! The Château is so empty without you! I have no one but aunt Narcissa and Julian and they both are so quiet these days. I can understand why aunt could be quiet. Cousin Draco is with you and we still don’t know what he is up to. But I don’t understand why my brother is so quiet these days. I made consommé royale yesterday, the soup he loves, and he didn’t even look at it! Normally he would finish the entire cauldron and asked for more. But this time? He ate almost nothing and left for the office. He is worried, maman, I can sense that. But why? I don’t know._

_Tell me maman, is Adrian really Draco’s son? Is that why he and you are going to England? To find out more about Adrian’s mother? Aunt Narcissa is dead worried. When we walk, she keeps telling me that her son is not the kind to have an extra-marital affair or keep mistresses. Did you see Adrian’s mother? What is she like? Is she ‘that’ type? I am very curious but…I know you don’t want us to meddle in what’s not our business._

_Did you really buy all those chocolates for me? You are so sweeeeet, maman! Zilek is pining for his Mistress and asking you to return home soon._

_Love and kisses,_

_Yours Lillian._

Audré read her daughter’s letter ten more times, marveled by her analytical power. Olympe was right. Lillian could have become the Minister for Magic had she joined the Ministry; she alone seemed to have deduced why Audré was going to England with Draco. Her eyes pondered on the line about Julian being quiet. That was not a good sign. Julian was usually a loud man who loved to enjoy his meals, Quidditch, and life. When he was quiet and enjoying none, it meant he was tense. Was it because of her, his mother? Was he worried about her sudden and unexpected England trip? He could be.

Her job with the letters done, Audré left the seat and got prepared for the upcoming _humble supper_ with the hotel manager.  She took care not to appear very chic or stylish. No matter what her hidden agenda was, she was a widow and should never forget her dignity. She, therefore, chose a simple blue dress, to match her eye colours and wore no ornaments at all, except the wrist watch. Morpheus Malfoy’s widow would never appear as an unfaithful woman to her husband’s memory.

At eight o’ clock Monsieur Leopold came to take her. After a polite greeting, Audré followed him to his office where he has made arrangements for their dinner. The man, too, seemed determined to not be a laughing stock to his employees and was being very formal and a good manager. It was the twinkling of his eyes that said what was going through his heart. He served her with a glass of sparkling champagne and appetizers and they sat, talking idly for a while.

“Madame, I know, I have never introduced myself properly.” Leopold was telling, exhaling sharply to prevent his bulging stomach to protrude too much, “In fact, I choose to appear very modestly before everyone, as a mere hotel manager. But it will not be boasting if I say that in my veins runs the blood of the royal family of Belgium. This palace that you see as a hotel was once my ancestral home.”

“I guessed that already, Monsieur,” Audré lied with a straight face, something she was very good at, “from your fine manners, speech, etiquette and dress up. The way you handle the staff, the way they listen to your every word, and most importantly the care you have shown for your guests, could never have come from a man who was simply _hired_ to do the job. It requires the attachment, the bonding, the _blood_ to be what you are Monsieur Leopold.”

Her words had the intended effect on the manager. Leopold’s already red nose was now almost purple now and his cheek, rich crimson.

“I…knew…you’d understand that, Madame.” He stammered, “You are a pureblood yourself…I am not being prejudiced but…blood _does_ matter… in fact…” He stopped abruptly when a knock issued on the office door.

Greatly annoyed by the untimely interruption of his impressive speech, Leopold huffed but before Audré didn’t curse loudly. He set the champagne glass on the table, left the seat and answered the door personally. Audré, deciding to keep her identity private from any curious onlooker, turned her back to the door.

“I am very sorry to disturb you, Monsieur Leopold.” Came a man’s voice and made her almost jump. It was same one that she had heard through the mirror that very afternoon. Alexis Delacour. What was _he_ doing here?

“Please continue.” The junior Undersecretary was telling the Hotel Manager, assuming well that he was having a guest, “I just came to know how the investigations are going.”

Audré heard Leopold give out dignified burp. “The Palace Guards have already checked Mademoiselle Granger’s suite and cleared the place of any possible spying objects. Rest assured, Monsieur Undersecretary, we are giving it our highest priority.” He replied, sounding very proud and important.

The way the manager assured the Undersecretary, there was no space for argument. He left and Leopold returned to Audré, looking slightly irritated.

“Blessings of being a manager to a hotel like this.” he said airily and sat down, taking up the champagne glass, “I am never alone.”

“To the busy hotel manager!” Audré lifted up her goblet to toast and grinning meekly, Leopold mirrored her movement. They toasted and Audré took a small sip from hers, “I believe everything is in order.” She enquired cautiously, appearing completely innocent outwardly, “I don’t want to be intrusive but is Mademoiselle Granger the one whose son, Adrian won the drawing competition?”

“Yes, the very one.” Leopold replied with a dry smile, “Apparently, someone broke into her suite and made a copy of her son’s shirt. I know that’s not possible. The Palace Hotel is very _safe_. But she is someone you can’t just dismiss. She is the first female Curse Breaker of Gringotts.”

Audré already knew that piece of information and decided not to let the topic die, for that was precisely why she was here tolerating Leopold’s tall talks.

“Really?” She rounded her eyes, “I have heard a great deal about her but we never met personally. Had I known that this Mademoiselle Jean Granger is the same Chief Curse Breaker Jean Granger, I would have paid more attention when shaking hands with her. But…” Audré took a pregnant and deliberately thoughtful pause, “…why would anyone break into her suite? Did they take something valuable? Was it for that ten thousand galleon prize money?”

“No! No!” Leopold looked appalled at the idea, “The prize money was deposited to her Gringotts account. It’s safe there. The intruder didn’t take anything. Just the shirt was copied. I send the Palace Guards to check her suite and they have cleared everything that can be used as a possible spying device…mirrors and a few other objects…but we still couldn’t identify any possible motives.”

“I have been in the law business for almost twenty-seven years now, monsieur,” Audré said serenely, seating at ease and taking a small bite from the appetizer, “and I have seen people lying more out of unnecessity than out of necessity. For example, look at that woman who chose to vanish before a running Muggle camera. Why would she do that? It wasn’t _necessary,_ was it? If proven guilty she could earn a serious sentence. Likewise, the person who allegedly broke into Mademoiselle Granger’s suite might not have any real motive at all. Maybe it was just for the fun of breaking into a highly secured suite. That shirt could be a relic, to show their friends that they have actually succeeded in their mission.”

“It can be...but we need proof…” Monsieur Leopold trailed off, becoming thoughtful, “…now that you say, Madame…” he sat up straight suddenly, his eyes focused on the tray of appetizers, as if making an invisible links between the two occurrences, “…it could be Celia… yes…yes…” his eyes were glinting, “…only she can do this…even mademoiselle Granger told Gerwulf that she suspected Celia…Celia…you bloody bitch!”

“Excuse me!” Audré cleared her throat, trying to understand what just happened that Leopold was swearing loudly before an honourable guest.

“I literally have no words to thank you Madame!” Leopold was totally a different man now. His eyes were glinting and his looked like a scheming fox, “Your words have opened a new door to my thinking. The woman you said, the one who vanished before a running Muggle camera, do you know who she is?”

Audré shook her head, keeping the rest of the information to herself. She was having a queer feeling that it would come handy very soon.  

“It’s Celia! Celia De Smet!” Leopold replied, leaving his seat in excitement and starting to pace around the spacious office, “She was a reporter for _The Daily Chariots_ and was kicked out because she tried to blackmail the First Lady into giving her an interview on her infertility. Thought it would make her a celebrity! The _celebrity_ was then thrown into prison. She came out from that shit hole last year and now runs a tabloid as filthy as her. The Wicked Witches!” he curled his lips in disgust, “She was at the prize giving ceremony. I had wanted to throw her away…but…”

“Is she the woman who wore an acid green robe?” Audré interrupted, finally finding the connections and feeling like that poker player who held the most valuable card in a game. Nostradamus! This was getting so interesting!

“She is!” Leopold cried so loudly that the chandelier shook, “And guess what Madame, the ministry has identified the perpetrator behind that Muggle mayhem. By that acid green tweed suit she was wearing. It is Celia! Now she’s going to be tried, thrown into prison and hopefully never come out.” he rubbed his fat hands hopefully.

“Do you think this woman was the one who broke into your guest’s suite?” Audré threw in the leading question on the backgammon board. She knew exactly what was playing in Leopold’s mind.

“Of course!” Leopold cried, now looking wild with joy. “Of course I am! Don’t think that I am framing her! Celia _is_ that kind! She is the one who’d, just as you said, break laws only for the pleasure of it!  She thinks it makes her smart.” he left his seat in excitement and started pacing around the office, “I will tell you what happened, Madame Malfoy. Celia saw Master Adrian at the prize giving ceremony. She noticed that Mademoiselle Granger was a _mademoiselle_ , not a Madame and targeted her. These are the kinds of stuffs she uses to sell that asswipe tabloid of hers. She even asked Mademoiselle Granger about her husband, Gerwulf told me, and received no reply. That was exactly what Celia was looking for, to see if Mademoiselle Granger was reluctant to talk about her son’s father. She thought if she could write a tantalizing interview on the winner of the ten thousand galleons, her readers would find it very interesting. But Mademoiselle Granger wouldn’t give her any interviews. So she decided to blackmail her into giving one. I don’t know how, but I’ll definitely find out, Celia broke into Mademoiselle Granger’s suite and took the shirt her son was wearing at the ceremony. Her plan was to blackmail her using it, just as she had done with our First Lady!”

Audré listened to the manager’s long winded story, not interrupting him for once. What she had come for was already happening on its own. With that scapegoat Celia found and nailed, the enquiry on Adrian’s duplicated shirt was soon coming to an end.  

“But Celia didn’t know that Mademoiselle Granger is the first female Curse Breaker in the history of Gringotts.” Leopold proclaimed proudly, his eyes glinting in maniac pleasure, “It’s almost impossible to hoodwink her with a duplicated shirt. She’d definitely find out and she did! Celia made the biggest mistake of her life next. She chose to vanish before a live Muggle camera. She must have thought it would make her look cool and the mayor would get sacked instead, for his poor performance. We will see who gets sacked now! The Aurors will arrest and throw her into the prison now and I’ll tell Mademoiselle Granger that the perpetrator has been caught and punished. End. Of. Story.”

Clever man, Leopold, clever and selfish man! Audré thought with relish. All he cared for was his hotel’s reputation and now that he had a possible mean to have it cleaned, he’d be a fool to let it go.

“But there are two flaws in that explanation, Monsieur.” Audré commented solemnly, “Firstly will Celia confess that she conspired against Mademoiselle Granger’s son?”

“She should and she shall.” Leopold replied loftily, making it very clear that he would not have any stone unturned to have his mean done, “She’s already doomed. Who cares about her? And what’s the second flaw?”

“It’s not a flaw actually.” Audré said serenely, tilting her head slightly, “I was wondering what if the ministry had an eye-witness who saw this woman…this Celia…when she disapparated before the camera? Would they hate it?”

“Why would they…” Leopold suddenly stopped pacing and turned to Audré. He seemed to have understood the hidden meaning behind her words.

“This evening, I was returning from hospital, on foot, when I saw this woman.” Audré sighed sadly, “I didn’t know her; had seen her only once before, at the Prize Giving Ceremony. It was her acid green tweed suit that caught my eyes, in both occasions. Then she suddenly vanished, I heard the Muggle cameraman screaming and left the scene. My nephew is in hospital, unconscious and… I thought I shouldn’t meddle…” she rubbed her forehead wearily, “…but now that you say, Monsieur Leopold, this woman sounds very dangerous. She is a professional blackmailer! It would be a crime if I don’t testify against her. I am a lawyer.”

“I must have done a good deed today that an angel like you walked in here!” Leopold was grinning from ear to ear now, trying to flatter Audré, “You don’t know what you have done! You have saved my name! You have saved my honour! You have saved _me_ , Madame!”

Audré would have liked it very much to protest but she didn’t, since time and tide was on her favour now.

“Oh, no, Monsieur, I am just doing my duty.” She appeared modest and elegant.

“After the dinner is over,” Leopold sat down, looking very confident and waved his wand. A delicious dinner appeared on the golden plates. “We shall go, meet the ministry officials and make arrangements for your testimony. Is that fine my dear lady?”

Audré nodded. “But I have one condition.” She paused delicately, “I don’t want to be named anywhere. You know we…”

“I know! I know, my dear lady!” Leopold declared pompously, holding up a fat hand, “ _The Malfoys believe in silent charity_.” He quoted her.

Audré beamed at him. Yes, the Malfoys did believe in silent and selfish charity but the Audré Chombrun Malfoy believed in silent striking and killing of her enemies.

No one came on her way and her means.

 _No one_.

•••••

_Red, red, red._

_Everywhere Draco looked, it was red._

_Above him, the sky was red. It was hard to say whether it was day or night. Draco shielded his eyes and frowned. Yes, there was a red orb in the sky that looked like the fiery eye of a Cyclops, staring down at him, wrathful. It was the sun._

_So, this was a dark day._

_He felt a cold stream flowing around his ankles. Looking down, he found himself standing in a brook. Its water was red too, like the relentless stream of blood._

_Wondering where he was and why everything was red, Draco looked around. There were trees that surrounded the little brook he stood in. Their leaves were red; some were oozing fresh blood, as though the trees were alive and bleeding. He strained his ears. An eerie silence greeted him. He remembered this silence. It was the silence of a mother who has just lost her precious son; the silence he never wanted to face again._

_As if sensing their presence, Draco turned around. There, on a queen sized bed laid his son, Astoria’s son, their son: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. Nothing was redder than the backdrop against which he lay motionless. Its stark clarity made the surroundings look dull, so red was the blood that soaked the white sheets under the little boy. The little brook that he stood in was made from the blood of his son._

_One look at it and Draco was transported to past, to 11 th March, 2002. _

_Draco loved everything about Scorpius. Their firstborn has taken to his mother, Astoria. He had her green eyes, her tiny chin, and her button nose. He even had her smile, the sweet smile that lit up Draco’s world and made him wonder how very lucky was he to have them in his life. The only feature the little boy had inherited from his father was the signature shade of silvery blonde hair they boasted on. Draco hasn’t failed his Malfoy blood on that._

_Little Scorpius was playful and adventurous, like his father was. He would give him a toothy grin every time Draco brought him a present, which was almost every day. His favourite toy was a stuffed dragon that’d yawn and breathe purple fire. He’d clap happily when the dragon breathed fire, Astoria would cry in alarm and Draco smirked smugly. Together they were a little piece of heaven._

_But that heaven was no more. Those beautiful, innocent green eyes, the eyes that Draco loved to see first thing in the morning were closed now. His little arms were wrapped around the stuffed dragon. Together they looked as if little Scorpius had fallen asleep while playing with the toys Draco had brought for him from Italy; as if he would wake up the moment his father ran a hand through his hair and kissed softly on his forehead._

_“Scorpius!” Draco whispered, knowing full well, his green eyes would never open again. Ever._

_His firstborn was no more. At two, his innocent soul has left for a realm that he, Draco Malfoy, with all his money, influences and power, couldn’t reach out and touch. Draco had seen many deaths, including his grandfather’s and father’s, but none has touched him so deeply. He was not ready to accept the horrific truth: that Scorpius was the resident of another world now, world of the departed souls._

_But was he the only one who was shocked? Was he the only one refusing to see, face and believe it?_

_No. There was another who was more silent than the graves. The boy’s mother._

_Draco stood stoically by the bed where Astoria was lying, holding her dead son close to her heart. Her usually happy green eyes were vacant, like the glass eyes of the dolls that little girls played with. She wasn’t staring at anything or anyone in particular. Her eyes were just open and when she blinked, it was so brief that one might take her as dead too._

_Narcissa was weeping into a handkerchief and smoothing Astoria’s honey blonde hair, trying to console the mother and failing miserably. Most of her words were incoherent, having no real meaning of their own. Draco could only stare at them: Scorpius, Astoria and Narcissa. His usually prudent mouth had no words to say. His dry eyes had no tears to shed. He had nothing. A part of him has died with his son._

_“ ’Ria, honey, let me give him a bath.” He heard himself speak after what it seemed like eternity. Even his voice didn’t sound entirely his. Where was the cold drawl the Malfoys were famous for? Where was the demanding sneer? This man whose voice spoke through his mouth sounded empty, vacant, defeated and lost. This was not the Malfoy Draco had tended; the Malfoy Draco had nurtured and flourished. This was another Malfoy, another Draco._

_Draco wasn’t sure whether Astoria heard him or not but her embrace of Scorpius only tightened. It was clear; she wasn’t going to let anyone, even Draco, to take her son away._

_“Ast…oria, dear…est,” Narcissa was trying hard to control her sobs, “our little… boy needs to be…needs to be… cleaned… before he is put to….” She gasped and started sobbing again, “…rest in peace.”_

_Eye wide open, Astoria shook her head resolutely and hugged her son more tightly; she even hugged the stuffed dragon Scorpius was holding. There was a blazing look about her that told Draco she’d kill anyone who’d dare to touch the little boy. Draco couldn’t blame her. He’d have done the same if he were not a man. He’d never let his son be taken and buried in a cold, damp grave, alone. But just as blissful it was to be a man, it was a curse upon his gender for they couldn’t cry like women did. With Scorpius gone, he was the last Malfoy standing and he couldn’t afford to display his weakness. He couldn’t allow himself to show the emotions that were causing havoc inside them, breaking, tearing and destroying his entire being, his existence. Men, as the rule stated, never cried and most importantly never cried before their mothers and wives._

_It took them three hours to persuade Astoria to let Scorpius have a bath before his burial. Narcissa tried her best before retiring to her grand chamber, to cry more openly. Daphne came forward to help. Draco’s once Housemate was more shocked than he had ever seen her and she tried every kind of consolation to have her sister let Scorpius go. She, too, failed. Last came Astoria’s mother, Mrs. Cassiopeia Greengrass. She sat beside Astoria’s head, smoothed her hair and sang a strange lullaby that put her daughter into sleep. Draco only watched as his wife drifted into a slumber, as if Astoria still was a little girl. Cassiopeia then extracted little Scorpius from Astoria’s death embrace and handed him, gently to his damned father._

_Draco has been forced to face many unpleasant and horrific situations. At sixteen he was given a Dark Mark and sent off to kill the wizard the Dark Lord himself feared most. At seventeen he was forced to watch as a giant snake ate a woman on their dining table, and use Cruciatus on fellow Death Eaters to avoid being punished so by Voldemort. He had survived the Battle of Hogwarts with nothing to protect him, even a wand, and here he was presented with the corpse of his firstborn. What was he to do with this boy that was the soul he lived for?_

_He took the boy in his arms and stared at him for a very long moment. He desperately hoped that it was all a very bad dream, that he was dead and not his son. Then, with his wife sleeping and his mother and other family members crying, he carried Scorpius’s body to the family funeral chamber._

_The Malfoys, like most aristocratic pureblood families, never used common funeral houses. That was way below them. Their manor had a separate chamber for that purpose, where every Malfoy that ever passed away were brought, bathed, embalmed and placed into an elaborately designed coffin for visitation before burial._

_Today as Draco walked into the funeral chamber carrying his two year old son in his arms, the boy who should be running and playing around the garden, he saw that the funeral staff and the coffin, was ready. He stood on the door for a while, feeling strangely surreal. No reality was truer than the death of an offspring; those who never faced it did not know._

_Draco didn’t hand his son to the funeral staff. They were not going to touch his little boy! Scorpius was too small for them. What if he got hurt when they gave him the bath? What if they were not careful, respectful enough? No, Draco couldn’t allow that to happen. He was going to give the boy his last bath._

_Careful, gently, and slow, Draco undressed his son. Scorpius’s body was starting to show Rigor Mortis, the stiffening of the limbs as one died, and it was therefore, very difficult to extricate the stuffed dragon from his little hand. Draco laid him on a marble surface and washed clean the last few drops of blood. There was no blood left in his body; Scorpius was extremely pale, the pallor of death adding to the pallor of bloodlessness. Draco washed his body with fragrant water; he washed it with salty tears that flowed down his cheek, he washed it with all the love and sadness he felt inside, he gave it his all. Then he dried him with a towel, wrapped the bloodless body in a green satin suit and put him gently in his little coffin. Lastly he planted a soft kiss on his little forehead._

_‘Adios, my son!’ he whispered, ‘May you rest in peace!’_

_Draco buried Scorpius that afternoon. As the sun set, it took with it all the hopes he had in his life. The sunset of 11 th March and Scorpius’s death, both plunged his life in total darkness._

_Astoria woke up next morning, to find her son buried and her husband lying beside that grave, embracing the earthy mould as if it was the actual boy. Together they cried, together they sighed and together they decided to help each other through this dark time of their lives._

_Astoria had kept her word, her promise. She had tried to give Draco something to live for. So honest was she in her words that she died doing it, leaving Draco to do deal with three graves and memories of their good times._

_If Draco Malfoy still lived, it was because he couldn’t find an excuse to die. His life was empty but his mother’s was not. She still had him. Narcissa would die if her son committed suicide. He couldn’t be that unfair, that cruel to his own mother, the only person except Astoria who understood and loved him unconditionally._

_Red, red, red._

_Everywhere Draco looked, it was red._

_The sky was red._

_The moon was red._

_The water he was standing in was red. It flowed around his feet like a relentless stream of blood._

_The leaves of the trees he could see were red. Some were dripping fresh blood, as if the tree was alive and bleeding._

_But nothing was red like the blood that was slowly spreading over Adrian’s shirt. The white shirt was turning into a red mess now and if Draco didn’t stop it, he’d end up losing the only hope he was left with._

Slowly Draco opened his eyes. He expected to see red again; find himself stuck in a red limbo where the worst memories of his life played themselves again and again, making him helpless and desperate. Instead, a few unfamiliar faces swam into view. They were all wearing white aprons and looking down at him.

“Good evening Monsieur Malfoy.” The only female in the group of four white people greeted him with a professional smile, “Thank goodness, you are awake!”

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A horrible throbbing pain was issuing from somewhere above his right eye. It was making the deep and gnawing headache that he woke up to find himself with even worse. Was he finally dead? It would be a blessing if he died and was reunited with his son and wife, even if it meant suffering from an eternal headache.

“Monsieur, please open your eyes.” a man asked him gently, “We want to check if you are alright. We are the Healers of St. Waltrude’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.”

Draco sighed, realizing that he was neither dreaming nor dead. He was alive and awake; both prospects sounding too hopeless and uninviting to want to do anything at all. As for St. Waltrude’s, he remembered it to be the hospital where Edmound was taken after he made him nearly drown.

“What am I doing here?” He croaked, wondering why he too ended up where he had sent that moron. He kept his eyes closed. It was hurting his head to stare at anything for too long.

“Can’t you recall what happened?” The same man who had asked Draco to open his eyes enquired, “You were found unconscious in your hotel room and rushed in here; two days ago. You have been under our care since then.”

Hotel room? Unconscious for two days? Draco scrunched his face, trying hard to remember what had happened to him. He has never fainted in his life, even for a second, let alone for two days. Yes, he had posed, once or twice, to be unconscious but that was just a ploy to get to his means done. It was never real.

“Can you remember anything? Anything at all?” The Healer asked seriously. He and the others seemed to be trying to check him for any signs of memory loss from head trauma, “Can you tell us your name, Monsieur? Your full name?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.” Draco spat, his temper rising considerably. What were these so called Healers taking him as? Some three years old? Did they know what he had been through and survived? Did they have any idea of the unbearable pain he constantly fought to live, to live for his mother? Could they imagine living a life where there was no hope, no happiness, no real meaning of the days that passed by?

But that wasn’t entirely true. Draco did have a last hope, a new found happiness. He now had someone to live for, to fight for, and to die for.  As if a flood gate has been opened, everything that happened in last few weeks came crushing by, erasing every other conscious thought from his mind. How could he forget him?

Adrian! His last son!

Draco remembered everything. He was at Brussels looking for his one last heir and had found him in the same hotel that he was staying with his aunt. He had been spying on the boy using a mirror and was planning to take him on a ride when something happened.

Draco gritted his teeth as the memory of that evening resurfaced. A man by the name of Alexis had come in and spoiled his mission of procuring hair from Edmound. He had returned to his suite, seething in unparallel rage. Then he had screamed at his aunt when she accidently spilled some Headache Potion on Adrian’s shirt. The Potion was red in colour, red like the red of Scorpius’s blood, red like the red in his dream and panicked, he had gone out to check on the real boy to whom the shirt belonged to see if he was unharmed. He was forced to stay outside Adrian’s suite while it rained. He got drenched and must have passed out when he had returned.

“I think we should run a few more tests to see how severe the damage is.” A male voice was suggesting, “How about a memory scan?”

The Healers talked among themselves about various means to diagnose the extent of Draco’s memory loss while he lay still, tuning their voices out of his head. He had a foreboding feeling that he was missing something, an important detail and he would lose his son forever if he couldn’t remember it.

What was it? What was it? Draco concentrated on the conversations he had heard through the mirror and information he had collected.

What the bloody hell was it?

A name?

A time?

A place?

A day?

A date?

Draco sat bolt upright.

“Monsieur! What are you doing?” The female Healer cried in alarm, “Please lie down. You are not well.” She tried to calm Draco, “We are not going to hurt you. Okay? The memory scan won’t take more than an hour and it’s completely safe.”

“Shut up you bloody twit!”Draco shoved the woman aside and she fell on one of her colleagues. “You think I am gutter rat that you do to me as you please? Pin me on a board and run tests?”

“No, Monsieur, you are mistaken.” The male Healer on whom his female colleague had landed said, helping her to stand on her feet, “The memory scan is just a routine procedure we run on head trauma patients. It’s painless. We are just going to run a specialized wand over your head and see if there are any brain injuries. That’s all.”

“Well, you’ll have to be disappointed on that because I am not having my head scanned by a gang of dickheads.” Draco threw the sheets aside and jumped out of bed. It was a bad idea for he was immediately hit a by a dizzying spell and collapsed on the bed again. 

“Monsieur Malfoy!” a Healer cried and came forward to help. Blind from pain and desperation, Draco punched him. It landed on the nose. There was a sickening crunch of bone being crushed and the man landed on floor, howling in pain.

“What is the date today? WHAT IS THE BLOODY DATE?” Draco screamed, pulling at his hair to stop the pain that threatening to split his head into two. Merlin! He had been unconscious for two days! Two precious days!

“Date?” the last two Healers left standing on their feet looked scandalized but they didn’t dare come near Draco, seeing their colleague whimper on the floor, clutching his broken nose, “Today is 13th of August.” One of them replied, thinking that the piece of information might calm down their patient. But it only aggravated.

“13th? Slytherin’s bloody fucking filthy bullocks!” Draco swore in anguish. Adrian was supposed to leave for Paris on the morning of 13th August. No! No! This couldn’t be happening to him. His last hope couldn’t be gone!

Mustering the last ounce of strength he had and fighting the dizzying spell, Draco ran to the nearest window and threw aside the curtains. The sky outside the hospital windows was dark blue. It was evening already.

Wham!

Draco, wild from rage, helplessness, grief and disbelief punched on the windowpane and smashed it. “AAAARRGHHHHHHH!” He howled like a wounded animal. Adrian! His Adrian! Where was he? Where has he gone? Where has his mother taken him?

Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham!

One by one Draco smashed all the windowpanes and landed on the floor, writhing in agony and despair. He heard footsteps as the Healers rushed to him. “Quick, nurse! The tranquilizer!” one of them cried and then everything went black.

•••••

It was a bright sunny day of middle June when Hermione had left England and come to Paris, to live with the Delacours. It was another bright sunny morning of mid August when she bade adieu to Brussels and returned to Paris with Adrian, once again to live with the Delacours. Almost seven years have passed in between. The helpless baby that was growing inside her in 1998 was a healthy boy of little over five and a half now. The then nobody Jean Granger was now the first female Curse Breaker of Gringotts, Jean Granger. Life was cruel at times but it has also bestowed upon her friends like Eva and Edmound, whose devotion and care never wavered. But if one asked Hermione what was the one thing that she prized most, what would be her answer?

The Delacours. Undoubtedly, the Delacours, Hermione would confidently reply. The Delacours was the reason she had her son, her friends, a home and someone to call father and mother. Now they were the reason she had renewed hope for a better future. Alexis was thy name.

Apolline and Gustave Delacour was as fussless a couple as it was unimaginably possible and Hermione was grateful for that. It was her second day at home but neither of them has asked her anything about what happened after Alexis suddenly left for Brussels.  Gustave hadn’t taken Alexis to a corner and whispered about Hermione, occasionally stealing a glance or two at her direction. Apolline hadn’t smiled pointedly and started discussing the wedding arrangements or made a lengthy shopping list. There was no mention of a certain ruby ring and nor any enquiry on its fate. They welcomed her as they had always welcomed her, with open arms and on Apolline’s part, a kiss on Hermione’s cheek. Everyone had talked a great deal about the tour. Adrian had jumped into his grandpa Gustave’s lap and showed him his rabbit trophy and the box of one hundred chocolate truffles that he was given by an ‘old lady’ at a shop. Gabrielle had shown her father a large jar of pickled Poisoned Dart Frogs that she and Edmound had caught. Hermione took care to examine Gustave’s expression then. No, he didn’t look remotely sad or alarmed at his daughter’s choice of a man. In fact, he had smiled and gently patted on Gabrielle’s back, as if congratulating her.

While unwinding after the journey, Hermione had opened her trunk and taken out Apolline and Gustave’s presents. There was nothing in the world that she could possibly give them; the Delacours had everything they needed. So she had, after a long and painstaking search of Belgian souvenirs, decided to give Apolline a large box of best quality Belgian lace and a pair of famous Belgian hat for Gustave. The lace, she told Apolline, was made only from the finest spun linen thread, which was spun in dark damp rooms to keep the thread from becoming too brittle. Only one ray of light was allowed into the room, and it was arranged so that it fell upon the thread. Apolline had looked highly delighted to receive such a thoughtful present. She had showed the laces to her husband and declared to use in dressmaking for the next Delacour wedding. Whether she had meant Gabrielle or her, Hermione didn’t know, but both the ladies had blushed and looked away.

Adrian’s best friends, Louis and Gina had turned up too and when Hermione handed them, each, an enormous box of best Belgian assorted chocolates their collective racket could bring the mighty Alps down. Needless to say that Adrian joined them and when Apolline asked how they would like the celebration party to be, all three screamed in unison:

_L’Apéro! L’Apéro!_

Hermione walked and smiled, pausing briefly to talk to the guests and enjoy every bit of the Saturday morning L’Apéro. An _Ap_ _é_ _ro_ was an informal French gathering where drinks were served with a wide range of appetizers. It was mostly held before dinner and wine was the chief drink. The guests would down a peg or two and nibble at the appetizers while chatting. The idea was to help them to get in a festive mood before the actual dinner party began.

Since the Apéro thrown by Apolline was for kids, it was being held before lunch instead of the dinner and lemonade has replaced the wine. As planned, Adrian’s friends and the entire magical neighbourhood have been invited. Gustave has erected a lemonade stand. Kids and their parents alike were helping themselves with watermelon splashes, strawberry slushes, sparkling raspberry teas or peach punches. Two enormous tables were laden with every kind of appetizers imaginable. Hermione didn’t even know that some could exist. Apolline had amazed everyone with her innovative ideas. Carrot broomsticks, tomato tulips, smoked salmon candies, cheese and olive bees, grape penguins, cherry porcupine, cucumber sailboats, what wasn’t there? To cap it all, Adrian’s trophy has been placed as the centre piece. Gabrielle and Eva were taking care of the ice-cream stand. Last but not the least Edmound turned up with an old friend of his who was a famous puppeteer. The kids had a great time watching the puppet show. Even Hermione laughed out loud several times.

Life certainly couldn’t get any better. Like a bright day that followed the darkest of storms, a new day in her life has come and all credits went to the Delacours who have accepted her like one of their own and never asked for anything in return. Her eyes lazily followed Adrian. The puppet show was over and he was playing with the kids of the neighbourhood, eating and drinking to his heart’s content. His platinum blonde curls swayed in the air, and his face was red from all the excitement. It was the most adorable sight to behold.

“Care for some lemonade, Jean?” Alexis’s voice broke Hermione’s musings. Turning sideways, she saw him offering her a glass of fruit punch. With small drops of water on the cold glass surface and a few pieces of ice floating in it, the drink looked tempting.

“Merci.” Hermione accepted the glass. The ring finger of her left hand was empty now. Alexis didn’t even glance at it. They stood side by side and sipped their lemonades, casually.

Hermione hasn’t worn the ruby ring except for the night of the Flower Carpet Festival. She had done that only to show Alexis that his marriage proposal has been accepted and gladly so. The ring was taken off immediately upon her return to the Palace Hotel. Engaged or not Hermione was a mother first, and until and unless her son knew what was the meaning of that ring on her left ring finger, that his dear uncle Alexis and his Mama was planning to get married and give him a loving papa, the ring would be residing in its box rather than shining on her finger.

“Did mother ask you about us?” She enquired airily after a while. She had overheard Apolline talking to Gabrielle about Edmound but they didn’t discuss her or Alexis.

Alexis shook his head, his following Adrian. Edmound has joined the gang of kids and they were playing an action packed game of kicking a flying ball. “Maman doesn’t need to.” He replied pleasantly, “Your blush told her everything, Jean.”

Hermione cleared her throat, trying not to blush this time. This was weird! She was blushing at the mere mention of getting married to Alexis. She was not a girl anymore and he wasn’t her Prince Charming. Then why was she reacting this way? 

“Sometimes people are _forced_ to grow up.” Alexis commented with a thoughtful smile, “Forced to accept responsibility, duties; forced to make choices that are way beyond their age. I guess that happened to you too, Jean.” He sighed, “But deep down your heart is still young.”

Hermione listened to him, wondering how he could always explain things so simply yet so accurately. With every moment that passed, with Alexis around her, she was rediscovering herself and the man. As a person, Hermione Granger has always been mature for her age. Romance never allured her as much as good books did. Besides, she had never really liked too corny stuff like, roses, kisses, holding hands and pecking or doting in public. Maybe that was why she had hated Ron snogging Lavender so openly. And after that encounter with Malfoy and the subsequent events, her distrust for men had magnified manifold. She had flinched at the idea of a man who wasn’t a father, a brother or just a good friend.

But life, it seemed, hasn’t fully left its hopes on her. After everything she has been through, with all the deep distrust she still harboured for men, Alexis was the only one who has succeeded in waking up the woman inside her. His gentle and safe touch, little and silent acts of care for her and Adrian, patience, devotion and longing, has done that magic. She knew better now. This introvert and subtle lover would never proclaim his feelings loudly in public but would fight the world alone to protect his beloved should such need ever arise. He could make her blush. Only he could make her blush.

“There he comes.” Alexis declared softly.

“Who?” Hermione blinked, slightly distracted.

“Monsieur Monette!” Alexis replied calmly.

“Monsieur Monette?” Hermione repeated after him. Her eyes automatically scanned the guests and found Gustave Delacour shaking hands with a lean and tall middle aged man, as if welcoming him to the Apéro. Then Adrian, noticing the new guest, ran to him with a loud squeal of ‘Monsieur Monette! You came!’.

“Alexis, I…” Hermione looked at the man, wondering if he thought she was still angry with him for that day.

“It’s not what you are thinking, Jean.” Alexis held up a gentle and assuring hand, “It’s not about that day. Monette is Adrian’s _drawing_ teacher and this Apéro is for Adrian winning the Drawing Competition.”

He had a valid point, Hermione had to agree. There was nothing wrong with inviting Adrian’s drawing teacher to a party that celebrated his student’s drawing talent. But somehow the idea hadn’t cross her mind until Alexis took care of it. Hermione’s heart filled with tender affection for Alexis. He was such a thoughtful man!

Meanwhile a commotion has started as soon as the guests spotted who was among them. Most of them have left their seats and gathered around Monette.

“Glad to meet you, Monsieur.” Louis’s father, Monsieur Lucien Rénard shook hands with the painter, “This is my son, Louis.” He introduced his son to him.

“It’s an absolute privilege, Monsieur!” Said one of the Delacour’s neighbours, “I am a big fan of your paintings!”

“Never missed any of your exhibitions!”

“Your work is just marvelous!”

“You are the best!”

“It’s my dream to have you draw me a portrait! Can I please have an appointment?”

Feeling Alexis’s gentle nudge on her elbow, Hermione went forward to see. Monsieur Monette, by the looks of it, was a very famous painter. The middle-aged man with dark blue eyes and salt and pepper hair had a no-nonsense air about him but he shook hands with everyone, even the kids with a smile on his lips. But no matter how much he moved, his left hand was always rested on Adrian’s shoulder as the little boy stood and watched the crowd with slightly open mouth and curious, wide eyes.

“Gustave never told us that you are related to him.” A neighbour commented with faintest contempt, frowning slightly at Monsieur Delacour.

“That’s because I am _not_ related to him.” Monette declared airily and the hubbub died, “I coach his grandson, master Adrian.” He looked down at the little boy who barely reached the knees. “I started drawing when I was seven. I am fifty-seven now and I have never come across such talent.” Monette’s hand left Adrian’s shoulder and moved to his head, “This boy is a prodigy. Art is in his blood. Drawing is like breathing for him. That trophy…” he pointed at the golden rabbit on the table, “…is just the beginning. One day _my_ student is going be more famous than I ever was and you lot would be running to have a glimpse of him.”

Monette was a proud man and Hermione always avoided such infectious contacts. But today, as he openly praised her son, she felt a lump in her throat, blocking all words that wanted to come out. Did he know how terribly she was mistreated for keeping a fatherless baby who had no apparent future? Did he know how many had asked her to get rid of Adrian and move on with her life? Did he know how many had judged her based on her choice? Did he know that there was not a day, not a night, not a moment that she wasn’t humiliated for being pregnant out of wedlock, be it Beauxbatons, or Paris?

But now? Time has given its answer through Monsieur Monette’s lips. Hermione’s love, belief and patience with her son have reaped its prize. Fatherless or not, prodigy or not, a boy like Adrian was a gift to his mother, a blessing to his family and a slap on the faces of those who had learnt to scale a child based on the presence or absence of his father.

Monette reached inside his robe and took out a book. Hermione was standing at a distance but she could see it pretty clearly. The hardcover book was titled ‘ _Laws and Flaws of Drawing_ ’. It bore no illustrations, only the title was written in silver ink.

“My teacher, the great Master of Art, Österman, gave me this book when I was eight. He had said, _‘Monette, pass it to your worthy pupil.’_ ” He quoted and before the entire crowd offered the book to Adrian, who by the looks of it didn’t understand a word of what was happening.

Hermione knew what was coming. Adrian would look at her for approval. Her son never accepted anything from anyone until she approved it first.

As Adrian’s wide grey eyes searched for his mother, Hermione moved forward and slicing the crowd, came to stand beside her son. Adrian looked up at her. Hermione smiled gently and nodded with a tearful smile. Adrian took the book from his teacher’s offering hands.

“Merci, Monsieur Monette!” He piped, thanking his teacher.     

As the guests broke into a pleasant applause, Hermione engulfed her son into a tight embrace. What could be happier for a mother to have a child like Adrian? Creative, witty, intelligent and hardworking! Loving, caring, sharing and lively! Tears of joy finally came down her cheek. She was so lucky! So damn lucky!

“Mama, it’s okay! Don’t cry!” Adrian patted on her back, trying to comfort her, “I don’t like it when you cry!”

Hermione didn’t respond. Nor did she stop crying.

“Mama…” Adrian cried, appalled, but Eva intervened.

“It’s alright, Adrian. Mama is just happy.” She assured him with gentle smile, “Mama’s sometime act weird. They cry when they a too happy!” She affirmed when the kid looked doubtful.

Hermione released Adrian and wiped her tears. As always Eva has understood her; she was a witness to what Hermione had been through and knew how she felt now. At the same time, she felt a pang of guilt for not seeing her son’s talent until Alexis pointed it out. She knew Adrian loved drawing but had thought that he was too young to be taken seriously. It was Alexis who had helped nurture Adrian’s passion and enrolled him to Monsieur Monette’s.

Hermione’s restless eyes searched for and found Alexis at the back of the crowd, sipping his lemonade leisurely, as if everything was completely acceptable, Monette could give Adrian his precious old book. He didn’t endeavour to come forward and proudly declare his role in the boy’s success as one would have, if he were after Hermione by using her son.

“Everyone please let Monsieur Monette breathe!” Came Apolline’s authoritative voice. She was trying to break the clot formed around the famous painter, Adrian and Hermione. “Gabrielle, bring some ice-cream tacos.  Eva, be a sweetheart and fetch some lemonade.”

As the ladies left to do their appointed duties, the guests started dispersing. A few still remained and Monette got rid of them by saying he didn’t talk about work while enjoying a party. The man had a powerful personality and after handing out a couple of autographs he excused himself. As he settled on a chair with a large glass of lemonade and a small tray of appetizers, Gustave introduced the rest of the family to him.

“My wife Apolline,” He showed them one by one, “My youngest daughter Gabrielle and my…” he couldn’t finish when Hermione’s turn came.

“I know who she is. She is Adrian’s mother.” Monette’s dark blue eyes fixed themselves on Hermione. “Heard a great deal about her. Nice to meet you, Madame.” He offered her a hand.

Hermione took and shook it confidently. For a split second the image of Jacob Jordeans offering her his tentacle like hand resurfaced on her mind and drowned again. This was France and she was thousands of miles away from the Belgian painter. There was no point in spoiling the good and festive mood thinking about that madness.

“I have always wanted to meet the parents of my brightest student.” Monette said conversationally and offered Hermione a seat, “Your son is very talented. I believe he inherited it from you.”

“No, I was never a good drawer.” Hermione took the seat and replied modestly, her eyes fixed on Adrian. He was busy showing his new book to grandma and grandpa. “I mean I can draw diagrams, star charts and academic drawings. But I have never done a painting.”

“Then I believe he inherited it from his father.” Monette commented simply, “It’s in his blood. There is no doubt about it. Kids like this are born one in a century. Monsieur Granger must have been a great drawer himself. Where is he, by the way?” He looked around, as if Adrian’s father was hiding somewhere and would come out.

Hermione bit her lips, wondering what to reply when Adrian came running to her. “Mama, look!” He showed her the book, “It’s a drawing book! I love drawing books!”

“Yes, you do.” Hermione smiled sweetly and ruffled his silvery blonde curls. Somehow Monette’s remark on Adrian’s drawing abilities reminded her of Harry’s flying skills. Flying was in her friend’s blood, through his father’s and he was the youngest Seeker in a century.

“Adrian, where is your papa?” Monette asked his pupil, “I want to congratulate him.”

“We don’t talk about my papa! It hurts Mama!” Adrian replied before Hermione could. The ferocious honestly behind that statement silenced both her and Monette.

“Oh…I…I am sorry!” Monette spluttered, looking half shocked and half embarrassed.

“Adrian, Mama’s love, go to your friends and play. Okay?” Hermione patted on Adrian’s shoulder.

“Okay!” the boy tilted his head and keeping the book in Hermione’s care ran away.   

“I am sorry, Madame, I am really sorry!” Monette shook his head and apologized sincerely, “It must be devastating to lose one's husband so early in life and left to raise the kid alone.”

So Monette was taking her as a widow! How very typical! Hermione shook her head mentally.

“No…he’s…a…” She paused briefly, “…he married another witch.”

Monette’s mouth fell open, as if he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “He married another witch?” He repeated, “He left this boy? _This boy_!”

“No, he didn’t leave us.” Hermione was desperate to get rid of this topic with as truthful answers as she could possibly afford, “I left him. I am a Muggleborn and he is a…”

“I understand!” Monette’s haughty features hardened in apparent detest, “Pureblood. They think they can do whatever they like. Like they are royal or something!” He snorted bitterly, “Of course, I am not talking about everyone. Some families are really good. The Delacours, for instance.” He smiled a little, “But that’s only a few. Most are not like that. Most are prejudiced hypocrites!”

“Er…” Hermione didn’t know what to say. Monette seemed to harbour a deep disgust for purebloods just as they harbour a pure hatred for Muggleborns. “Are you a Muggleborn?”

“No.” Monette replied smoothly, “Half-blood. My father was a _pureblood_.” He mocked with curled lips, “He left my mother because she didn’t tell him that she was a Muggleborn when they got married. She was pregnant at that time and had no choice to marry him. Monette is my mother’s maiden name. She raised me. I never used _his_ name. I still don’t acknowledge him as my father. Who wants that kind of a father?”

Hermione listened, realizing that she and her son weren’t the only ones who were mistreated by the pureblood maniacs. There were many and some stories were bitter than hers was.    

“Monsieur, I want to thank you for picking up Adrian for tutoring.” She said, eager to change the topic, “He loves to draw. He can learn so many things from you.”

“Oh, no, Madame, you are mistaken.” Monette shook his head and took a deep drought from his lemonade, “I don’t teach him.”

“You don’t teach him?” Hermione blinked, wondering why Monette said that.

“He already knows it.” Monette replied with a proud and mysterious smirk “You should see Adrian when he draws. The look on his face, the way he holds the brush, the way he makes strokes, it can never be taught. Ever. It _has_ to be in his blood. There is no other explanation for _that_ talent at _this_ age. Kids his age can’t even draw an animal properly. But give Adrian a parchment, a pencil and an hour. He’ll draw an entire zoo for you. He must be related to a great painter. Who knows? He could be the great-great-great-great-great grandson of Michelangelo. He too could draw from a very early age.”

Hermione was suddenly reminded of Harry’s first discovery of his Parseltongue abilities and the confusion that followed it. Many had taken him as the great-great-great-great-great grandson of Salazar Slytherin. But there was one thing she was certain of; Adrian was not a Horcrux.

“All I do is giving Adrian a good guidance.” Monette was saying, looking very pleased with his little student, “His father…” he curled his lips once again, “…will regret one day. A boy like Adrian is a man’s dream to sire. I pity him. I pity everyone who thinks blood matters more than talent.”

Hermione found herself liking Monette. The man was proud but not for vain. He has earned his success, he has worked hard for it and he didn’t suffer from fake modesty. They talked for a while. Monette told her that in his classes with Adrian, he has mostly refined Adrian’s drawing skills and one of them was drawing white objects or animals on a white background. Then he thanked the Delacours for the invitation and with a respectable nod at Hermione’s direction, left. Adrian bade a happy goodbye to his drawing teacher.

The sun was past mid-sky and the Apéro was slowly coming to end. Filled with good food and drinks, the guests were leaving, thanking the Delacours and congratulating Hermione once again on her son’s success. Louis’s father, a gentleman in name and manners, thanked her for the chocolates she had brought for his son. Hermione assured him that it was no hassle at all; she’d have brought that for Adrian’s best friends any way. Her son’s other best friend Gina’s mother, Madame Georgette Jeunet, has come to the Apéro too.

“Gina is asking me to take her to Brussels next.” She told Hermione with a cheerful smile, “She wants to go by train, stay at the Palace Hotel, see the statue of the Peeing boy and visit the Flower Carpet.” She counted them on her fingers, “She wouldn’t let her father sleep last night until he promised that he will take her to Brussels very soon.”

Hermione laughed. Among her son’s friends’ parents, she liked Gina’s mother. Madame Georgette Jeunet was a plump witch with a heart shaped face and a hearty smile. Unlike most of their neighbours, she has never held any prejudice against Adrian for not having a father or shown any untoward curiosity about Hermione’s past.

They stood and talked about the kids. Madame Jeunet asked Hermione if she was enrolling Adrian to St. Joan’s. Hermione nodded, her eyes on the children who were bidding farewell to Adrian. One boy caught her attention. He was standing in a corner, drinking some fruit punch and watching the kids leave. The pale boy had a button nose and it was currently wrinkled, as if he smelled something unpleasant. His watery blue eyes were narrowed and for a boy not older than nine, his forehead had unusual crease marks of frown. For some unknown reason he looked sullen and snapped loudly at the woman who had accompanied him to the Apéro.

“Who’s that boy, Georgette?” Not knowing why she did it, Hermione asked.

“That one?” Madame Jeunet sighed, as if reading Hermione’s mind, “Pierre. Pierre Rochés. Monsieur Augustus Rochés’s son. From his third marriage.”

So this was the famous Pierre Adrian had told her about? If she remembered it well this boy was the one who had once asked Adrian if his mother had a marriage anniversary.

“ _Third_ marriage?” She repeated, wondering if there was a connection between the two.

Madame Jeunet’s always cheerful face turned slightly bitter. “Monsieur Rochés’s first and second wives were _unable_ to provide him with an _heir_. So he divorced them.” She replied with apparent distaste, “Lea Rochés, Pierre’s mother, was in the same year with Fleur, your cousin.”

“And Monsieur Rochés?” Hermione, though a passionate hater of such gossips, couldn’t help but asked.

“He is almost Monsieur Delacour’s age.” Georgette’s disgust was more pronounced now, “You are from Britain, Jean. I guess you have heard of that Muggle king. Henry the Eighth.”

Hermione nodded. Who hasn’t heard of Henry the Eighth?

“He married six times, for a _male_ heir,” She replied, “and beheaded two of his wives. Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard.”

“I hate to say this, Jean, but I think this man, Monsieur Rochés, is a modern day Henry the Eighth.” Georgette snorted uncharacteristically, “Divorcing your wife because she couldn’t give you a male heir! Even kids know these days that women are not responsible for the gender of the baby. Their father is. Anyway…” she shook her head, as though trying to get rid of the unpleasant thoughts, “I am sorry if I sounded like gossiping.” She smiled apologetically and biding Hermione a warm goodbye, left with her daughter.

The Apéro finally over, the Delacours cleaned their garden. Hermione and Adrian helped them, the former deep in thought about what she had learned about the condition of women in Wizarding society. Be it Henry the Eighth who lived in the sixteenth century, or the painter Monette’s mother or Augustus Rochés’s many wives who lived in the twentieth century it was still all the same everywhere. Alexis was right. It was a man’s perspective of a woman. Not everyone was lucky like her mothers, Adeline Granger and Apolline Delacour.

As Alexis and Edmound cleared the final table and helped the ladies to set the lunch, Hermione finally settled down with the book Monette had given Adrian. Thanks to her love for reading, she could tell by the cover what book it was and how new or old it could be.

 _The Flaws and Laws of Drawing_ was a thick tome, not bigger than an atlas, but not too heavy. Hermione opened the book. The first page came into view. The parchments were yellow from age but they bore the signs of extreme care by its previous owner. She turned the pages, cautiously. The smell of parchment mixed with old dried paints reached her nostrils. The pages were full of methodical analysis of master drawings, including works of Muggle painters like Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Rodin, Goya, and Rembrandt as well as a good number of magical ones. The unknown author has shown how these artists have tackled basic problems of drawing. The book itself was a masterpiece. Even to complete laymen who knew nothing about art it made Hermione want to sit, draw and loose herself in the world of colours.

 _‘You should see Adrian when he draws Madame. The look on his face, the way he holds the brush, the way he makes strokes, it can never be taught. Ever. It has to be in his blood. There is no other explanation for that talent at this age.’_ Monette’s words echoed inside her head, _‘He must be related to a great painter. Who knows? He could be the great-great-great-great-great grandson of Michelangelo.’_

Hermione smiled, feeling proud of her son. No, an experienced man like Monette couldn’t make mistakes. The book was highly advanced for a boy so young, but so had been Hermione herself when she had whipped up an N. E. W. T. level potion in her second year. Like mother, like son.

Such a beautiful day could only have ended with an even more unexpected and relieving news. Hermione was about to leave for the kitchen, to help Apolline with lunch when Alexis came out.

“It’s for you, Jean.” He came to stand beside her and offered a large white envelope.

Hermione accepted it silently. It was an express letter, more like a Muggle courier and bore the seal of a large crown over the initials L, T and R which stood for _Le Tr_ _ô_ _ne Royale_ or the Palace Hotel.

Wondering whether it was about the enquiry the Hotel Manager and the Head of the Palace Guard, Messieurs Leopold and Gerwulf, had promised to keep her informed about Hermione broke the seal. Alexis was about to leave when she grabbed his right wrist.

“Stay.” She replied solemnly to his slightly amazed man. Silent, Alexis took a seat beside her and Hermione retrieved the contents of the envelope.

First came out several cuttings from various Belgian Wizarding newspapers. They were all about a witch who was arrested and being tried at the International Wizengamot of Warlocks at Hague, the Netherlands. Frowning, Hermione scanned the photos. It was the same woman who had asked her about Adrian’s father at the prize giving ceremony.

“Celia De Smet.” Alexis took one of the cuttings and read the name underneath a photograph where the once attractive looking witch looked haggard and almost ill from interrogation.

“You know her?” Hermione asked, astonished.

“ _She_ did it?” Alexis didn’t reply and read the news article that followed.

“She did what?” Hermione was perplexed now.

Alexis sighed and shook his head sadly, “On the night of the Flower Carpet Festival, someone purposefully apparated before a live Muggle TV camera. It was all over the news.”

Hermione vaguely remembered Eva and Gabrielle discussing about a witch who broke the International Statute of Secrecy on the night of the Flower Carpet Festival. But she couldn’t read the news. Adrian was so excited about the festival that he wouldn’t let Hermione rest for one moment. In the end she had to send him to Edmound to have an hour free to get dressed before Alexis came.

“Celia did it?” She asked like Alexis had just a few moments ago, “ _She_ apparated before the Muggle camera? Is she mad?”

“Apparently.” Alexis replied thoughtfully, “The news says that the ministry has an eye-witness of the incident.” He read from the news cutting, “The person wishes to remain anonymous but the testimony that was given is completely true.”

Wondering if this woman was somehow behind the incident in her suite, Hermione reached for the only piece of paper that seemed like an official letter. She unfolded and held it before their, her and Alexis’s eyes.

 _Dear Mademoiselle Granger,_ it read in an ornate and flourished hand writing that must be Monsieur Leopold’s,

_I hope you have reached Paris safely._

_As one of the best and finest Wizarding hotels in Europe, at The Palace Hotel we constantly serve children who come with their parents. It is our tradition and commitment to have each and every guest of The Palace Hotel satisfied, but the children are very hard to be pleased, mostly when it comes to food. I have never seen a young Master or Mademoiselle who hasn’t snapped or wrinkled their petite noses over our delicately cooked dishes. The only exception was your son. A well-mannered little gentleman like Master Adrian is a very rare breed. He brought us glory and we care for him, just as much, if not more, as you do._

_It was this reason that when Master Adrian’s shirt was duplicated, the Palace Hotel authority took the matter very seriously and was determined to find out the perpetrator. While we still believe and state proudly that our security is the best in entire Belgium, we also left no stones unturned to discover the truth. What came out was appalling, shocking but not unheard of._

_I assume you have already gone through the newspaper cuttings that I have enclosed with this letter. The woman you see and I believe remember well is Celia De Smet. Monsieur Gerwulf told me that she had asked you about your husband, at the Prize Giving Ceremony and that you suspected her as a possible culprit. On the night of the Flower Carpet Festival Celia was arrested for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy and she is currently being tried at Hague, the Netherlands. When interrogating her, the Aurors came up with a new discovery. Celia, under the Veritaserum, confessed breaking into one of our guest’s suites and taking her son’s shirt to blackmail her into giving her an interview. I believe you have already guessed who that guest might be. Based on that information, a raid was conducted at her house and Master Adrian’s shirt was recovered. It’s now in the possession of the International Aurors who are using it as evidence._

_Thankfully, Monsieur Gerwulf has good contacts in the Auror office and they contacted us before filing an official enquiry. We were relieved to find that the culprit was caught and would be served justice._

_The Palace Hotel has always tried to maintain the highest quality of service. Our guests are our first priority and we would continue to endeavour in our struggle to be the best. We require your help and support in the road to excellence._

_Thanking you for your time and stay at the Palace Hotel,_

_Leopold B._ _Duquesnoy._

_Manager, Le Trône Royale,_

_Brussels, Belgium._

“Nice letter.” Alexis remarked solemnly, “It seems that they took the matter too seriously.”

“Why are you saying that?” Hermione asked. She knew Monsieur Leopold was a bit sensitive when it came to his hotel’s reputation but that was natural and certainly not a crime. “Do you think he is lying?”

“No.” Alexis shook his head, smiling now, “He could have if the enquiry was conducted solely by the Hotel authority. But it was done by the International Aurors who are trying Celia in The Hague, the supreme and the only neutral Wizengamot. It’s just that…everything kind of fell together…” He took the letter from Hermione’s hand, folded it and slipped it into the envelope with all the other newspaper cuttings, “All’s well that ends well.”

Hermione sat a long while after Alexis left, pondering on his last statement on everything falling together. But at the same time, the International Aurors had an eye witness and the idea that Celia was framed just to clear the Palace Hotel’s image was absurd.  

Hermione felt relieved. No. No one was after Adrian. She was safe with the Delacours. Adrian was safe with the Delacours. The perpetrator has been caught.

Hermione left her seat and started for the kitchen. She felt strangely tranquil, happy and even hungry. Jacob Jordeans, Draco Malfoy and Celia De Smet could all go to hell.

She couldn’t care less.

•••••

For Draco Malfoy Saturday the 14th August proved to be more unlucky than Friday the 13th.

That day, after regaining his consciousness for the third and final time, he found himself on a hospital bed with a painful lump throbbing over his right eye. The room was semi-darkened; the people around him had darker faces that he could ever recall seeing. Draco blinked several times, trying to find out in which world was he: the world of the dead or the world of the living.

It had been an uneasy sleep. A fleet of horrible nightmares had drowned him under their mighty waves. He had tried to float, he had tried to live, had tried to save those he loved: Astoria, Scorpius and his unnamed sons. But they all left him alone and disappeared under the foamy and monstrous red waves. Everywhere Draco looked it was blood, the red glaring at him like the bloodshot eyes of a drunkard.

It was a woman who saved him. Draco was screaming desperately for help when he saw her. Clad in a white gown, she came cutting the red water on a beautiful white boat. It was a dove shaped prow and its huge white wings were half folded. The water rippled on either side of its white breast beneath the curving neck. For a split second, Draco had stopped screaming and wondered if it was Death who came under the guise of an enchantress. But no. She wasn’t Death.

As soon as her boat came to a stand beside him, the woman whose face Draco couldn’t see offered him a hand. He took it, not knowing why he did so and why he no longer felt any fear. With a mighty pull and unusual vigor for a woman like her, the lady of the boat pulled Draco from the red water and onto the boat. He lay there, panting heavily and delirious. The next thing he knew was he has opened his eyes to a semi-darkened room.

Six hours has passed since. With the relentless care of the Healers of St. Waltrude’s, the swelling over his right eye has now reduced to the size of a pea. The terrible headache was gone. He had been given an ample dose of Dreamless Sleep, to beat the nightmares should he dozed off. But it was not enough. His physical pains might have receded for a while but the agony he felt inside was burning everything like Fiendfyre.

Adrian was gone. His mother has, by some miraculous means, found out about his duplicated shirt. So aunt Audré had to get rid of that Protean Charmed mirror. To save his neck, she has framed another woman, a reporter by the name of Celia De Smet, for trying to spy on Jean Granger and his son with some help from the vengeful and over-protective manager of the Palace Hotel, Monsieur Leopold. All he was left with now was the shirt that had started it all.

Draco hasn’t uttered a word since all the news was broken to him, one by one, by his very careful aunt. She had looked sad, even thoughtful, while doing it, as if losing Adrian pained her too but she preferred not to show it before her nephew. They had sat silent for a while. Then Draco had taken his breakfast and medicine. When he finally looked at Audré, she was solemnly watching him eat.

“I apologize for that night, aunt.” Draco’s own voice sounded foreign to him, it was so broken and rusty. He has never apologized to anybody in his life, not even to his mother. But in Audré’s case he felt compelled to do so. She has saved him on every occasion and in every manner it was possible, though his father, Lucius Malfoy, has never wasted an opportunity in cursing and showing her down before Draco. 

Audré sighed sadly, as if amused by the irony of the fate. “I don't know whom to sympathize more, dear nephew. You or Adrian? I guess I should choose the latter. You see, you can beget as many sons as you like Draco but that little boy…” she paused delicately, “… _unfortunately_ can't beget a new father. No matter what happens, _you_ remain _his_ father and what a sheer misfortune it is!”

As if he has been slapped hard, Draco looked down, not meeting his aunt’s blue eyes. Her words hit him like the arrows of accusation on a man’s manhood when he wasn’t able to sire a child and it hurt. It hurt immensely.

“Adrian,” Audré looked up at the white ceiling of Draco’s cabin, “is a talented boy. He is like that piece of clay that needs a good molding to be made into an excellent vase, in the hands of an expert. I am very sorry to say Draco, that no matter how many times I save your neck, yesterday, today and tomorrow, my honest opinion is that you can’t be that that _someone_.”

“I apologized, aunt.” Draco said quietly, “Don’t vex me, please.”

“I am not vexing you, Draco and you know that.” Audré shook her head and offered Draco a poultice. He took it and rubbed it softly on lump over his right eye. It felt better, at least physically. But inside, his heart was burning with anger. Like the merciless sun that poured fire over a drought covered land, he wanted to bring everything down, burn the entire world.

 Hermione Granger! That bloody worthless Mudblood whore! How. Dare. She? How dare she take his son and run away? Adrian was his; he was Draco’s, Draco Malfoy’s son. He looked like his father. He drew like his father. He loved water like his father. He made rhymes like his father. He solved puzzles like his father. With every pore of his body, every cell of his beautiful structure, Adrian was his father’s property, his asset and his last hope for living. How dare that fucking bitch steal his son?

Audré’s deep sigh broke his dark and wrathful musings. He was feeling like throttling that cheap roadside trash Granger but remembering what Audré had said just minutes ago about Adrian being the most unfortunate boy on earth to have father like Draco, he refrained from expressing his inner true feelings. Adrian should consider himself lucky that his father loved him to the point of insanity, to point of fighting the Death to bring him back, to have him at all costs. Having a father like that could never be a misfortune, no matter what Audré said or thought.

“How did that happen?” She asked him something completely irreverent, indicating at the lump.

Draco rubbed the lump with the poultice absent-mindedly. The Healers of St. Waltrude did have some good tricks up their sleeves and with their treatment he was already feeling like a renewed man. Besides, the desire to get to Adrian, his only son, was burning like a fuel inside his pureblooded veins. He was feeling like that restless horse that had a thousand miles to run and was put on restrains, trying to break free and banging his head in vain.

“I had an accident.” Draco tried to play innocent. It wasn’t easy with Audré. Her blue eyes could see past his soul and identify the truth but Draco told her about that night’s events that had followed after the potion spilled Adrian’s shirt. Trying to sound like a desperate and loving father, he stated to her how Granger was blocking his way into entering and checking on Adrian, how he had to spend almost an hour in horrible rain and how he returned to his suite, half dead.  

“You still think I am the worst father a child can ever have?” He asked her once the tale was finished. Audré was the best hope Draco had for finding Adrian once again and he was keen to keep his image clean in her eyes.

“I never said you are the _worst_ father a child can have, Draco.” Audré smiled and taking the old poultice from his hands, threw it away and handed him a new one. “I said Adrian is bound to be an unfortunate son if his father didn’t improve his conducts. I know the Malfoy blood has its own uses and misuses, but I also…” she paused briefly, “…but I also I want to believe that Astoria somehow made you a different man. She must be very a special woman, so special that you still mourn her death, not out of obligation but out of love. Let me believe that _you_ can change, Draco. I want to believe.”

Draco checked Audré’s features for sign of suspicion or sarcasm. There was none. She was sitting just beside his bed, on a chair and looking as plain and honest as anyone who truly empathized with him could appear. There were dark circles under her eyes, must be the gift of the sleepless nights she had spent looking after him. Looking straight into her eyes, Draco remembered his mother. Did she know that her son had been in mortal peril?

“Did you tell mother?” Draco asked, although somehow the absence of a fussing Narcissa Malfoy gave him the answer that Audré hasn’t done so. Whether it disappointed him or he felt happy about it, he didn’t know. All his valid and invalid emotions were tangled into a large web now. He couldn’t identify anything except exceptional anger for that Mudblood bitch.

“I thought it would spoil our plan, so I didn’t.” Audré replied, nonplussed, “She sent me a letter asking about you. I wrote back that you are fine and will contact her as soon as you are free.”

“Did mother ask you about Adrian?” Draco was curious to learn how much the water has flown out of the vessel.

“She did.” Audré nodded solemnly, “In fact which mother whose son went on a wild goose chase for a long lost son wouldn’t?”

“And what did you tell her?” Draco asked cautiously.

“I told her to ask you.” Audré replied airily, “ _I_ regard it as an act of interference in _my_ business when someone lets out something that I was keeping out from another someone’s ears for my own good reasons.”

Draco mentally thanked Audré for her thoughtfulness. He needed to know the entire picture before he could decide how much he could let out and how much he couldn’t. No one but that Mudblood and he knew about what had happened in the Malfoy dungeons and Draco was keen to keep it that way. Neither his mother nor his aunt would understand that he was not to be hold accountable for it. That Mudblood had attacked his pureblood mother, tried to kill her and angered Draco beyond any possible control. She had brought that fate upon herself. Rape or not, Draco Malfoy never polluted his skin by touching such filth as Granger.

“Do you have any plans?” He jumped to the main topic that was the burning question now.

Audré considered his question for a long moment. She then joined her elegant fingers and rested her petite chin on it.

“I _have_ a few.” She replied, looking mysteriously thoughtful, “But…” she paused and fixed her eyes on Draco’s grey pair, “…I have two conditions.”

“Conditions?” Draco repeated, frowning.

“Yes, yes conditions.” Audré nodded, a smirk appearing in her lips, “Malfoys, I was told by my dear husband, never did anything unless they got something in return, Draco.” she said raising an amused eyebrow, “By marriage rights, I am a Malfoy too and what will you give me for my service?”

Draco was surprised. Was Audré playing a game with him? Now? _Now_ of all times?

“What do you want?” He asked sharply.

“Fear not, dear nephew,” Audré smiled pleasantly, “I don’t want anything expensive. My first condition is that you will not question me about _anything_ I do in England.”

“Why would I do that?” Draco couldn’t fathom what was going on in Audré’s mind. She was an accomplished chess player and had all her moves planned before she spoke. Was she after something? If so, _what_ was it?

“And my second condition is…” Audré didn’t endeavour to reply to Draco’s previous query, “You will tell me the truth about you and Adrian’s mother, the _whole_ truth, when I feel like the _right_ time has come.”

Draco considered the conditions for a whole minute. He was a Slytherin and a Malfoy, twice cunning by virtue of those titles. But Audré wasn’t someone he could take lightly. She was better, if truth be told, best in the field. It was impossible to find out what was playing in her mind. But she still didn’t know what has happened between him and that Mudblood, if that encounter could be called something. The game was still undecided. He held the key to the truth and Audré held the key to his son. Which one should he choose?

“Fine.” Draco replied solemnly, remembering Adrian, his tender sweet voice, his drawing and his smile, “I’ll not ask you anything and I’ll tell you the truth. Is that okay now? Will you help me in finding Adrian?”

Audré’s lips twisted into a mysterious smile.

“What do you want me to know from Fleur Delacour?” She asked, sitting back on her chair and crossing her arms, looking very confident and in control of the situation.

“I want to know,” Draco cleared his throat and pressed the poultice on his lump, “how my son and his mother ended up at the Delacours and _where is that place_.”

“Consider it done.” Audré spoke like Lord Voldemort when he schemed, “Now take rest. I am going to pull some strings, have you released from here and have a Portkey booked for England at the earliest convenience.” She left her seat, “Are you sure you can make the journey?”

Draco nodded. Of course he could make the journey to England. In fact he could make the journey to hell.

Adrian was that important!

Adrian was that priceless.

•••••

Sunday, August the 15th’s sun was slowly going down the western horizon. Above, the sky was a vast canvas where interplays of red, orange, crimson and a few thousand unnamed colours made an oil painting beyond human comprehension. Against their farewell backdrop stood the silhouette of an old manor house, its gate opened to welcome them home.

An involuntary shiver went down Audré’s spine. Finally she stood before the famed Malfoy Manor. With the day almost over, birds chirped happily and returned to their nests. Audré unfortunately couldn’t feel the same. That dark manor made her feel very cold and detached from the surroundings.

“Aunt, are you alright?” Her companion enquired. He was standing just beside her. Audré tore her gaze from the manor and turned it to him. Draco Malfoy was giving her a look of ill-disguised concern.

Audré wanted to tell him the truth. No, she was not alright. She couldn’t be alright. She was cold and she wanted to run away from this place. There were pasts in it that have haunted her to the point of insomnia. She now wanted to be free.

But how could she do that? That little boy, Adrian, his innocence and sanity was at stake. That woman who has raised her only child away from the mighty Malfoys, her true identity remained to be discovered. Unearthing Draco’s past, the one he tried to hide desperately behind those tricky statements was just a few steps away. The stage has been set; she has set it carefully. She has framed Celia. She has kept away vital information from Draco. Now she couldn’t back out.

“Aunt?” Draco waved a hand before her eyes, “Are you alright?”

Audré nodded. “I am fine, nephew.” She lied and looked back at the manor again.

“You are too quiet.” He remarked.

“I guess the journey has taken its toll on me.” Audré offered with a weary smile, “I am tired.”

“Let’s go in then.” Draco gestured at the driveway of the Manor. He smiled broadly but the tiny frown between his brows prevailed. “After you.”

Audré didn’t move and continued staring at the manor. It was strange. Adrian’s thought somewhat quelled her apprehension. That little boy has ensnared her with his innocent charms. She could do almost everything for him, including staying at the Malfoy Manor.

Audré let out a deep sigh and took a tentative step to her doom. Draco followed silently. The Malfoy Manor, as described by her husband, was a handsome one. A wide gravel driveway went past a pair of ornate wrought-iron gates, bordered by high hedges that curved alongside it. There were elaborate gardens and a fountain played at the front. They passed the wrought iron gates. Audré felt like walking in through the mouth of a monster to reach its bowels. As they entered the gates swung close with a loud clanging sound. It shook Audré to the very core of her bone. She jumped a little, startled. Draco must have noticed it; he stole a glance at her direction but didn’t speak.

Biding Brussels farewell Draco and Audré had started for England that very afternoon. It took them an hour to land on the English soils and another half to complete the formalities before they were allowed to apparate to their destinations. Their luggage, thanks to the excellent service of the Malfoy manor house elves and Narcissa, was already been brought up. All they needed now was to dine and retire for the night. 

“I don’t know about France, aunt, but in England we don’t let outsiders apparate directly to our family homes.” Draco broke the silence, talking conversationally as if trying to feel his aunt out. “It’s pretty risky. If they want to come, they send us an owl. We confirm and give them a landmark to apparate. When they come, someone is sent from the manor to bring them. Only insiders are brought by side-along apparition.”

“Thank you for not taking me as an outsider.” Audré commented lightly. Her eyes were on the high hedges. She spotted a few chameleon green snakes in it, blending perfectly well with their green background. Their eyes glinted like emeralds, as if trying to assess whether the intruder should be attacked and incapacitated. After a moment they vanished inside the hedges, satisfied with their observation.

“The snakes won’t hurt you.” Draco assured her, noticing the direction of Audré’s gaze, “They don’t hurt family members or guests. They are only for intruders. It was grandfather Abraxas’s idea. Cool, isn’t it?”

“Did they attack Lord Voldemort when he walked in through that gate?” Audré enquired indifferently, “Wasn’t he staying here against you wills? I thought that made him an intruder.”

Draco clenched his teeth, as if something very unpleasant has been mentioned. “They would have but his pet snake, Nagini, frightened them.” He replied tersely, “But who told you about the snakes?”

“You seem to forget that _my_ husband once lived here.” Audré replied leisurely. “And Abraxas Malfoy was _his_ father too.”

“Uncle must have told you a great deal us.” Draco said, his previous unpleasant tone receding a bit, “Why wouldn’t he? Malfoy Manor is the finest manor house in the entire Britain. There is nothing close to it, except perhaps…” he paused, “…Hogwarts.”

Audré didn’t comment. They walked and the high hedges curved alongside. In the faint light of the new risen moon she saw the outline of a shimmering white peacock. To a newcomer, Malfoy Manor was one of the finest places on earth. But what about those who knew its past? What was it to them? Was it still a home?

“If my memory serves me well, nephew,” Audré decided to explore the point, “the original land Malfoy Manor stands on now was once owned by Muggle landowners. In 1066, when King William the Conqueror conquered England, he seized this property and gave it to your Great Ancestor, Armand Malfoy, for his _services_ during the war. I assume you understand what those services could be.” She gave him a sideways glance, “The Malfoys eventually expanded their border by annexing the holds of other landowners. I fail to fathom what’s so _impressive_ about it. Maybe your esteemed father was right. Maybe I _am_ a cheap courtesan who doesn’t understand the meaning of proper Wizarding _pride_.”

“Aunt, please!” Draco sighed in evident exasperation. He seemed keen to avoid his father’s topic at all costs.

A draught of cold wind blew over them. Desperate to keep her spirits up, Audré continued walking. They came into a clearing. A fountain with two marble mermaids played before a manor. It was fully visible now. The thousand years old three storied building had the marks of age upon it but it could still stir some veneration among the visitors. Here and there were spires, its pointed tips piercing the sky like the needle of a spinning wheel. The rooms beyond the mullioned windows were mostly dark.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor!” Draco declared with a slight tinge of pride in his voice. The front door was closed. Now it swung open to admit the new guest.

“After you, aunt.” He gestured and Audré entered the house.

They came inside a large and almost round foyer. Most people in her place would look around and admire the impressive surroundings, the rug, the paintings, the stuccoes and the statues. But Audré looked up. Yes, it was still there. The dome. Its upturned surface was covered by a magnificent painting. Men in shining armours and on horses were charging at each other. Their spears and swords were flashing in the glow of the painted sun, before cutting off heads or piercing through hearts.

“The Great Battle of Hastings.” Audré murmured, remembering what Morpheus had told her about the dome, “It was where Norman forces of William defeated the King of England and captured the land. At the end of the bloody, all-day battle, King Harold was killed by a shot in the eye and his forces were destroyed.” She looked down and found Draco listening with his mouth half open.

“How do you know so much?” His features were of true awe.

“I even know what happened to the Italian painter who was commissioned that piece of art.” Audré said calmly, “His name was Bracciotti. It took him five years to paint that dome and the day it was done, he was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Draco blinked, seemingly surprised by the sudden downward turn of the grand story, “Why?”

“Apparently a snake-haired lady thought that other pureblood families would pay Bracciotti more and have a copy of the painting made.” Audré replied morosely, “Malfoys hate their _things_ to be copied, just as you hate your things to be touched. They considered cutting off Bracciotti’s fingers first. But then thought it was too much of a hassle. So, he was finished off.”

“Snake haired lady?” Her nephew’s expression hardened. “You mean grandma Medusa did that?”

“Your _grandma_ Medusa never did anything without consulting her husband first.” Audré commented evenly and looked at the general grandeur, “What a _fine_ stately home!”

Her subtle jibe wasn’t wasted. “Did uncle ever tell you anything _good_ about this place?” Draco asked coldly, “It was his _home_ too.”

Audré smiled pleasantly but didn’t reply. By the looks of it, this ignorant man didn’t know a lot about the esteemed Malfoy Manor; just the usual stuff about the past glories and how he has to uplift it.

“Narcissa wrote that I’d be staying at my husband’s suite.” She said nonchalantly.

“Mother wrote to you?” Draco’s anger turned to apprehension, “I mean…er… you told mother that we are coming here?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Audré asked innocently, “Narcissa Malfoy is the mistress of this fine manor.” This was interesting. Why was Draco so nervous about their England trip? Did Narcissa know Jean Granger?

“Bbbuttt… you are with me!” Draco stammered, trying to cover up, “And…and you are also the mistress of this manor.”

“ _This_ manor?” Audré wondered if she should snort or laugh out loud, “Thank you very much, nephew, but I would better serve in hell than reign in Malfoy Manor.” She paused, “Besides, my husband never cared for his family. His chief occupation was spreading horrible rumours and spending time with French courtesans.”

“Aunt!” Draco let out a sigh. He seemed to regret his earlier outburst and when Audré raised an eyebrow at him he held up his hands in defense, “I am sorry. Okay? I am sorry I said that. Uncle was a good man. He was _definitely_ a good man.”

“Indeed, nephew.” Audré snorted, “Now can you take me to the _good man’s_ room?”

“Come.” Draco, smiling kindly now, wrapped an arm around Audré’s shoulders. She swept at glance at the man and his arm that wound around her now. Was he trying to flatter her because she was an important pawn in retrieving that information from fleur Delacour? But no. Draco’s expression was of genuine care. He didn’t look remotely annoyed or resentful.

He led her through a hallway. It was wide, sumptuously decorated and was covered by a magnificent carpet that muffled their footfalls. The green walls displayed many pale-faced portraits of men in gilded frames. As she passed, some leaned forward to see who the woman was. Some wrinkled their noses, as if not liking Draco’s choice of a woman to spend the night with.

‘Look for a young girl, you idiot! Not a gaga!’ one even commented in extreme distaste. Draco ignored them. Audré’s eyes, meanwhile, searched for the man she looked for. Lucius Malfoy. Yes, he too was there, sitting on a leather couch by the fireplace with a glass of wine. Two huge dogs in chains sat at his feet as he posed extravagantly for the painter.

“Didn’t father ever met you?” Draco whispered, noticing that the portrait of Lucius Malfoy didn’t protest violently to see his elder brother’s wife at the Malfoy Manor.

“Who’d want to meet a courtesan?” Audré asked back, her voice equally low, “No. We never met.”

“But he said…” Draco paused briefly, as if trying to phrase the question in a way that wouldn’t set Audré off, “I thought he knew you.”

Audré didn’t remark. It was a valid point she wanted him to ponder on it and find a feasible answer, that how his father could tell Draco that his uncle married a French courtesan if they had never met. Her reply might condition his beliefs. Self discovery was always the best discovery. 

They came at the end of the Hall. Here there was a bronze-handled door. Draco wrenched it open.

“This is the sitting room.” He gestured, throwing the door open and standing at the threshold, “You can come here anytime you like. You can even invite guests. Forget the past, aunt. Malfoy Manor is at your humble service.”

Silent, Audré peeped in. It was just was way she had heard from Morpheus’s lips. The Malfoy Manor’s sitting room was a widely proportionated drawing room with dark purple walls and a large crystal chandelier that hung majestically from the ceiling. There was a handsome ornate marble mantelpiece and a gilded mirror with intricately scrolled frame was set on top. Soft plush elegant sofas were placed around a table by the fireplace. That must be where Lucius was sitting when he posed for his portrait.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Draco. Thank you.” Audré smiled pleasantly. It was especially hard when she was desperately trying to stop herself from running away through the gates that she had walked in just a few minutes ago.

“Let’s go to uncle’s room.” Draco said, “It’s on the East side of the Manor. Our rooms are on the West side. I have not been to that side much. Besides, his room was locked. I don’t think anyone ever went inside after he left.”

They went up a flight of carpeted stairs. Audré wondered for a while what her children would feel if they ever visited their father’s old home. Would they cry? Would they be overwhelmed and remain silent? Would they complaint and quarrel why their father was treated so?  

The corridors of Malfoy Manor were lusciously decorated. Extreme grandeur blinded and bedazzled the guests. Who could ever tell that the place could hold such heinous past? Finally, after fifteen minutes of constant walking they reached their destination.

The door that led to Morpheus Malfoy’s old room was ajar. A slice of light came and fell on the floor. This part of the Malfoy Manor, Audré noticed, was colder than the parts she has just passed. The corridors also didn’t have adequate candle brackets and the place was plunged in semi-darkness. 

“Good for you to tell mother.” Draco said, trying to sound cheerful, “She seems to have arranged everything.”

Audré didn’t respond.

“I guess your things have been brought up.” Draco said again, trying to break the eerie silence that pressed on them, “Let’s go in.”

Audré shook her head pensively. “No, Draco. I’ll go alone. You go to your room.”

“Are you sure?” Draco, in semi-darkness, tried to check Audré’s features.

“Positive.” Audré nodded. Somehow, all her fears, all her uncertainties, and apprehensions have evaporated like camphor. She was at Morpheus’s room. Nothing could harm her here. She knew.

“Fine. I’ll leave you here.” Draco withdrew his arm from around Audré’s shoulders, “If you need anything, _anything_ at all, just send me a Floo call. Okay?”

Audré nodded again. Draco, after sighing once, left her on the semi darkened corridor.

Audré stood there for a long minute, not entering. She had no words to describe the feelings she was having. Was it longing? Was it love? Was it regret? Was it rage?

“Why did you leave me like this?” She whispered, “Morpheus, oh Morpheus! Why did you leave me alone like this? Did it never occur to you that I might need you?”

No one replied. There was no one who could reply. Morpheus Malfoy was dead almost ten years now and she was alone, sullen, and trying to live looking at the faces of her innocent children, Julian and Lillian.

Audré reached out and touched the door. It opened a few more inches. Waiting another second she sighed and entered the place allotted for her – her husband’s old room. 

For a Manor that was so extravagantly decorated, Audré immediately noticed, Morpheus Malfoy’s old room was strangely vacant and lusterless. Where the walls should bear dark green wallpapers it was bare, the stone grinning at her like a poltergeist. In a corner was a four poster bed, neither large nor grand. It didn’t have any hangings. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling. The other furniture was a writing desk with a chair.

Audré stood and watched the suite for a while, not moving a muscle. So this was where her husband lived? Away from the hubbub of the main manor and isolated. Plain and simple. Her eyes roved around the bare walls; it felt as if someone has tore away the place of its last feeling, last memory of someone’s living there and burned them to ashes. The suite seemed to have sustained a great wrath and lived to tell Audré the tale. The tale of Morpheus Malfoy.

Not caring to sit and take some rest, Audré walked to the only window and looked outside. The darkness has fallen fully now. Some old fashioned gas lamps were casting a yellow glow on the garden and walkway beneath. They were not enough to fight the inky darkness that pressed and suffocated the manor. The moon was slowly going up the horizon and gaining more light. Under its eerie and haunting charm a few albino peacocks were pecking at pests. In a universe where there was no light and life, they seemed as the only ones that were real and beautiful.

“Who are you?” a voice asked softly and jumping a little, Audré looking around. Nothing came into view. There was no one. The suite was empty except for her.

“Who is it?” She asked, leaving the window side and walking back to the suite. For a split second she wondered if Morpheus was back as a ghost but then the voice spoke again.

“What are you doing here?” It was a female who enquired sharply, “This is my grandson’s room.”

It was then that Audré spotted her. Yes, there, hanging on what must be the south wall of the suite was a portrait of a middle aged lady in black dress and a necklace of magnificent pearls. Her black hair was curled and her features told Audré that she must be from a noble family. Currently, that noblewoman looked slightly annoyed that her questions haven’t been answered.   

“Your grandson?” Audré came to stand before the portrait, feeling half-awed and half- elated, “Rhodope…Rhodope Malfoy?”

The lady in the portrait didn’t protest, nor did she agree. “Who are you?” she asked tersely, evidently in dire need to know who Audré was, “What are you doing here? This is my grandson’s room. Don’t they have enough guest rooms to give you one?”

Audré understood that by ‘they’ she meant the Malfoys. Her heart was beating like a drum and the damned thing seldom behaved such a way, “They would have. But I asked for _this_ one. _Explicitly_.” She replied evenly.

A deep frown appeared between Rhodope Malfoy’s black eyebrows. “Why?” She pursed her lips disapprovingly.

“This was my husband’s old room.” Audré replied simply, keen to see the reaction of her words on the lady.

“ _Your_ husband?” Rhodope repeated, her black eyes round from astonishment and shock, “Are you…” she exhaled and as if trying to feel Audré out, reached for her, “Are you…Audré? Morpheus’s wife?”

Audré nodded solemnly, silent and happy tears now rolling down her cheek. “I am your granddaughter-in-law. Audré Chombrun Malfoy.”

“Merlin! Merlin!” The lady collapsed and disappeared from the canvas she was in. “Merlin! Merlin!” her cries reached Audré’s ears but the actual person wasn’t visible. “Never thought… never…” she reappeared, “…never thought I’d see you…” she said breathlessly, “…see Morpheus…where is he? Is he here?” she looked around wildly as if waiting for her grandson to walk in through the door any moment.

Audré sighed and wiped off her tears. “He is here.” She placed a hand over her heart, “He’s been here since he passed away.”

“Passed away?” The lady looked horrified, “Morpheus…my Morpheus passed away…when?”

“Ten years ago. On 22th of April, 1994.” Audré replied; her voice was slightly broken now.

“So young!” the lady looked beside herself, as if unable to accept the truth about her beloved grandson, “He was only _forty two_!”

“He is survived by his son and daughter.” Audré stated, trying to console the elderly lady, “Our children.”

“Children?” Rhodope was crying and smiling now, as if not knowing how to react and which news to react to precisely, “Merlin! Morpheus has children? Of course he has! What are their names? How old are they? Are they here? With you?”

Audré shook her head. “I came alone.” she replied solemnly, “There are at home, in France. Julian, our son, is twenty six. He is the second-in-command in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“He _works_? He is an Auror?” Rhodope looked both surprised and delighted by the news, “Merlin! The _first_ Auror, I believe, from the Malfoys.” Her black eyes were sparkling with tears of joy, “And your daughter? What’s her name? Is she an Auror too?” She seemed hungry for news.

“Lillian, our daughter, is twenty three.” Audré replied with a happy smile, “She is not an Auror. She is pursuing her career in Wandlore. She wants to be a Wandmaker.”

“ _Lillian_! Julian and Lillian! What beautiful names!” Rhodope’s tear-stricken voice seemed to caress the names, “That’s the first _female Malfoy_ in over seven hundred years! And what a magnificent careers they have chosen! They work! Both of them! One is an Auror and another is a Wandmaker in the making!” She cried in happiness, “How do they look? Do they look like my Morpheus?”

“Julian has his father’s looks but my dark hair.” Audré replied pleasantly, “But Lillian has gone completely after her father. Hair, eyes and everything.”

Rhodope smiled breathlessly, as if she could picturize her great-grandchildren in mind, “Do you have any photos of them? I haven’t heard anything about Morpheus since he left. That was almost thirty years ago. He was twenty one then. Now his son is twenty six! Merlin! So much has happened! So much has changed!”

A long silence greeted her statement. Audré stood still before the portrait that she knew belonged to the only person in entire Malfoy family who ever cared for Morpheus, his grandmother, Rhodope Malfoy.

“You are Actaeus Malfoy’s wife.” Audré said after a while, Summoning the seat by the writing desk and settling before the portrait, “Morpheus told me all about you.”

Rhodope Malfoy’s thoughtful features turned sour at the mention of her husband’s name. “All about me?” she asked, a satirical smile appearing on her lips. “ _All_ about me?”

Audré cleared her throat, wondering what to reply. It was clear that she has touched a nerve. “Well, Morpheus told me that you loved him. In fact you were the only one who loved and understood him. No one else did.”

A sad smile appeared on Rhodope’s lips but she didn’t comment. For a while they both remained silent, with Audré looking up at the portrait and Rhodope looking sad and immersed in her own thoughts.

“The Malfoys are very strange people.” She said, rubbing her eyes wearily, “They don’t value good qualities. Who cares about kindness, charity and generosity? Who bothers about petty chivalry and courage?  Loyalty, conscience – what are these things? The Malfoys are proud. The Malfoys are King Makers. They make kings. There has never been a Minister for Magic without the Malfoys backing them. And what would the Malfoys get in return of their favour? They would get to rule and enjoy the power of reigning over the King himself. All they love is money; all they care for is influence and grandeur. They can do anything for it. _Anything._ ” she sighed, “No one comes in their way. Not even their son. Morpheus.”

Rhodope paused. Sensing that the lady hasn’t talked to anybody trustworthy for a very long time, even after her death, Audré sat tight. She was having a feeling that a great tale was coming from the lips of Rhodope Malfoy.

“I was born in a noble family in Genoa.” The lady in black dress and white pearl necklace started, “It’s a sea port in Italy and it’s beautiful. Nature has gifted Genoa with everything. Our past is glorious. Genoa was called ‘la Superba’ which means ‘the proud one’.”

“I grew up playing in the shores of Mediterranean, like a bird, like a sea gull with not a care in the world.” Rhodope smiled a little, as if back in her home and walking on the beaches. “We were pearl traders, for centuries. My family was the wealthiest in the region but they were not proud. They valued good qualities. I loved to draw. When I was eleven, I made a fresco of the Mediterranean beach. There were boats, ships, Muggle sailors, birds and crabs. Everyone praised it, even my father who understood nothing but good quality pearls. My mother was a kind woman. She said I’d be a famous painter one day and I believed her. I was so young! My eyes were full of beautiful dreams of future! Everything was going fine. I studied and I drew. I visited the beach whenever I could. Life was so beautiful…until he came.”

Audré understood that the _he_ was actually Rhodope’s husband, Actaeus Malfoy.

“I met him when I was sixteenth.” Rhodope said so quietly that Audré almost missed her words, “He came to Genoa for good quality pearls for his mother’s birthday present. I still remember the day we met.” She reminisced, looking pained and bitter, “I was at the beach, drawing. I was so lost that I didn’t notice it when he had come and stood behind me. A shadow fell on my drawing and I looked up. Our eyes met.”

Audré, in her mind’s eyes tried to imagine what it would look like when an innocent and carefree young lady was drawing in a beach of Mediterranean when someone as formidable as a Malfoy noticed her.

“His eyes were grey…” Rhodope pursed her lips as it confessing something very bitter and painful. “…and greedy. They were almost feasting on me. I felt like a sheep and he was that wolf who would devour me, whole. I was a never a weakling. But his eyes frightened me. I left the drawing on the sand and ran back to my home. I thought it was all over. He didn’t know me. He could never find me.”

There was a long silence broken only by the relentless crickets of rickets. Then somewhere in distant an owl let out a raucous cry. In the stillness of the vast manor it sent a shiver down Audré’s spine.

“He found me.” Rhodope declared suddenly, looking almost demented, “He used that drawing that I had left on the beach to found me. When he came to know that I was the daughter of the wealthiest pearl trader of Genoa, he asked for my hand from my father. Father told mother to talk and pursue me to accept him. He said such marriage proposals don’t arrive every day. The Malfoys are the most influential family in Britain. Any noblewoman should consider herself lucky to be marrying into such a family. I told them that I don’t like him. I told them his eyes haunt me. But they didn’t listen to me. They said it was all rubbish; it was all my imagination. We argued. In the end my father, who was a businessman and never rejected a good business proposal, got angry and said that either I shall marry Actaeus Malfoy or I shall taste his wrath. Mother got panicked. We had never seen father like that. She begged me to give consent. I was left with no choice.”

Another long silence followed. Audré, unbeknownst to her, was tearful again.

“Actaeus was five years older than me.” Rhodope resumed, a mournful tone in her voice, “My father arranged for a grand wedding. Every single pureblood family of Italy was invited. I was underage when I got married but father _managed_ the Ministry official to make it seventeen. Then my husband…” she closed her eyes, as if trying to forget something very unpleasant and painful, “…he took me to Venice for our honeymoon. After spending a month there, he brought me here. I never saw Genoa again.”

“The Malfoys…” Rhodope’s voice was half-tearful and half-determined to continue, “…always choose brides from rich and influential families. They have married into families across the Europe, in Germany, Spain, Italy, Greece, Sweden, Austria. The reason is very clear. The Malfoys are like a dynasty. They want their family influences to spread all over Europe, to have family ties that could come useful. I was also a part of that big plan. My family was the wealthiest the region. They were purebloods and had good influence in and outside the Ministry. If they married a girl from that family, the allegiance would bring the Malfoys more power and family influence.”

Audré was curious to learn more about Rhodope’s relationship with her husband. The reply came on what followed.

“I never liked Actaeus.” The lady sighed, “He was vain and haughty. He was extremely proud. He used to boast to his friends that he has caught the best _pearl_ of the Mediterranean, that the Malfoys always get what they wanted and they want only the best. My freedom was gone, forever, the day I said ‘I do’. I was living like a princess, dressed up in lavish clothes and walking like a doll because my husband loved to see me that way. But inside, I was a prisoner. Here I had no friends, no relatives. There was no beach, nobody to talk to. My mother-in-law was Spanish and she didn’t understand anything about my country or my culture.”

“Abraxas was born.” Rhodope rubbed her eyes wearily, “I was nineteen. I asked Actaeus to allow me to go to Genoa and show my son to my family. My parents would be happy to see their grandson. He said he would take me there but couldn’t do it now because he had some important works. Work? Malfoys never work. That was just an excuse to stop me. Time went by. Abraxas grew up and became one. I asked Actaeus again. I implored to let me visit Genoa, for once. He said he was taking me; it was just a matter of time. Desperate, I asked him to, at least, bring my mother to Britain. He said he was doing it. Weeks turned to monthes. Monthes turned to years. But he never took me to Genoa. My mother also never came to Britain. My letters to home were first read and then posted by husband. There was no way I could break out and run away from this golden prison. So I lived and died here. Thus came the end of my dreams of becoming a painter one day. My dreams and I were _entombed_ in this marriage.”

Listening to Rhodope’s tale was like listening to that sad violin note that would make one’s heart heavy and yet they’d feel helpless, unable to do anything for the sufferer. Audré wanted to reach out through the portrait and wipe Rhodope’s tears but that was not possible. What a sad portrait has been made of her! Her family was pearl traders and she wore pearls. She was a painter whose dreams were crushed and buried under the mighty Malfoy feet. Now a painting of her hung on the Malfoy Manor, her prison. It was the last of what remained of the long forgotten, free and carefree girl of the Mediterranean.

“Abraxas’s father was a hunter, a very good hunter. I was like a trophy he had won, a wife who had no say or free will of her own.” Audré hadn’t thought that Rhodope would have more to say on her husband’s matter, “The Malfoys, by blood, are very cruel and he was not an exception. When I first learned that he loved to hunt, I felt how true my instincts had been. Actaeus _was_ the wolf and I was his sheep.” She became thoughtful as if wondering if she should proceed, “Actaeus…had a very good knowledge of baits; knew just the right thing to lure his prey into a trap. Do you know, Audré, what he used as baits? Did Morpheus ever tell you?”

Audré wanted to shake her head but somehow, remembering all those horrific memories that she shared with her husband, she couldn’t. She didn’t know what Actaeus Malfoy used as baits but she could guess it very well.

“Muggle kids.” Rhodope almost gagged, “They were all aged between two to six. The Malfoys have always considered Muggles as nothing more than trashes and what was better than using their kids as baits to hunt a big Minotaur, Acromantula, or some fascinating prey? The kids were stolen from the nearby villages, bound and gagged into a parcel and used as baits. I used to panic every time Actaeus declared that he was going on a hunt. It meant another mother was going to lose her child. I begged him to not do it. He’d never listen. He’d laugh at me, at my foolishness, at my frailty. And when he got bored of my pleas he’d take me to bed…to quell me…the proper way. I couldn’t talk for days after he was done with me. Nothing was left of me anymore.”

It was becoming unbearable and Audré sincerely wanted Rhodope to stop now.

“I am sorry if I upset you with my miserable tale, dear.” Rhodope smiled kindly, “It is not entirely sad. I did meet a good end. I died giving birth to our second baby. My son, too, died with me. It was such a relief! I don’t understand why people are so afraid of dying. Death was more kind to me than life ever could be. Death freed me from this prison. After my second baby died, my husband stopped hunting. It saved a lot of Muggle kids. What I couldn’t do with my life, I did it with my death.”

“Did he repent for his actions?” Audré didn’t know why she asked such a stupid question. Did people like Actaeus Malfoy ever repent?

“He followed me a decade later.” Rhodope replied, as if not hearing the question, “His portrait is in the hallway, with the other Malfoys. Time passed. Abraxas married a Greek woman. Her name was Medusa and she put the entire Malfoys in shame.” She smiled or better say grimaced, “Medusa’s legend lives in the minds of those who have seen her cruelty, including your husband. Morpheus was a kind man, a black sheep according to Malfoy standards. It’s not a surprise that he couldn’t take it and left this hell called home. I am glad that he found a good lady and made a family. You are the first French and Lucius’s wife, Narcissa, is the first English bride of the Noble and Aristocratic House of Malfoys.”    

Audré digested the piece of information but didn’t ask for more. She has heard enough of that happened inside the walls of this Manor.

“I wouldn’t have bothered you with my long tale, Audré, if it were not important.” Rhodope suddenly became serious, “If you look at the history, every great dynasty has had tyrants and every single one of them has fallen.  The Malfoys, too, will fall very soon. It’s not a prophecy; it’s an unavoidable fate that they have brought upon themselves. With what they have done to innocent people for centuries, with their cries, pleas and sighs making the air heavy, this dynasty, this manor won’t be able to stand for very long. It will collapse. It has already started. The walls are already crumbling. Look what happened to Lucius’s son! I truly mourn for my his wife and sons but it’s also true that someone…someone has to pay the price of their past crimes. Now, I don’t want you or your children to be that someone, Audré. Leave. Leave when you still have some time and don’t ever come back here. Save your family from the Malfoys. Save Morpheus’s life’s work.”

Having done her work, Rhodope Malfoy’s portrait vanished. But her words kept reverberating in the very air that Audré breathed in. She sat still for a long while, staring at the empty canvas.

_‘The Malfoys, too, will fall very soon.’_

_‘It’s not a prophecy; it’s an unavoidable fate that they have brought upon themselves.’_

_‘Look what happened to Lucius’s son!’_

_‘someone…someone has to pay the price of the past crimes!’_

_‘I don’t want you or your children to be that someone, Audré.’_

_‘Leave. Leave when you still have some time and don’t ever come back here. Save your family from the Malfoys. Save Morpheus’s life’s work.’_

Then came Morpheus’s soul-shattering and agonizing cry.

_‘…can’t believe that anyone can be so barbaric! She was hanged by her left ankle as they tortured her!’_

_‘…couldn’t do anything as the baby was taken forcefully from mother and stabbed through the heart…’_

_‘…had no way to escape as she gauzed the woman’s eyes out and threw them in the potion…’_

_‘The oubliette…it was used for human sacrifices…’_

_‘…I can’t live with these memories, Audré!  I can’t live with these memories! I couldn’t save them…I couldn’t defy my mother and save them… Medusa didn’t kill them…I killed them…’_

Audré covered her face and tried to block the haunting memories. It was painful enough that she has just heard Rhodope’s tale. Now their collective effects were making her want to scream and run away like a madwoman.

How long she sat like that, staring blankly at the canvas and lost in thoughts Audré couldn’t tell. Rhodope hasn’t appeared again. Maybe she was tired. But in her stead, Audré imagined the portrait of a familiar little boy. He looked almost like Draco except the silvery blonde curls. The boy looked sad. He too had been entombed here, by his father. His dreams of becoming a famous painter had been crushed. His name was Adrian.

Someone placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Not startling, Audré looked up. She expected to see Morpheus, silently asking her to leave the manor. Instead she saw Draco. He was looking down at her.

“Is everything alright?” He asked softly, and following the direction of her gaze looked at the portrait, “That’s Rhodope Malfoy’s portrait. My great grandmother. Everyone calls her the Silent Lady. She never talks. To anyone. What is she doing here? Did she talk to you?” He looked down at her again.

Audré stood up. She has made up her mind.  “Draco, can you book me a room at The Rosings?”

“Where?” Draco asked, seemingly confused.

“The Rosings.” Audré replied calmly. “It’s a Wizarding hotel at the Piccadilly Circus. In London.”

“Bbbuttttt why?” Draco spluttered, as if wondering what happened to her all too suddenly. He looked back at the empty canvas of Rhodope Malfoy again, “Did she tell you something? Anything?” He asked sharply, looking greatly annoyed, “Don’t believe it, aunt! Don’t believe her! Father told me. Rhodope was mental. No one would marry her. Her family blackmailed my great-grandfather and forced him to marry her. She’s mental, aunt. She made his life miserable.”

“Draco…” Audré folded her arms and gave her nephew a solemn stare, “…do you remember what my first condition was?”

“Yeahh…” Draco cleared his throat, “…I won’t ask you anything about what you do.”

“Then don’t.” Audré declared dismissively, “My decision has nothing to do with the _mental_ Rhodope Malfoy and everything to do with _you._ If you don’t want me to return to Paris tonight, do as I say. And if you think that you can stop me by force, because I am a frail _woman_ , I’d like to see you _try_.”

A staring contest followed, Audré looking dead calm and Draco, calculating and apprehensive. Then the latter gave in.

“Fine, I’ll book a room for you at Rosings or whatever…” he tried to calm her, “but you can stay until dinner is over. It’s your first night at the manor. I asked the elves to make a grand dinner for you.”

“Draco, I don’t like to repeat my statements.” Audré said flatly, not caring about the grand dinner, “I am going to Rosings, whether you like it or not. Enjoy your dinner. Bon appétit.”     

“Fine, fine!” Draco held up his hands in defeat, “I have never seen a more stubborn person. Give me fifteen minutes, will you? I’ll send an elf and book you a room. Is that okay now?”

Audré glanced at the empty portrait of Rhodope Malfoy. She hasn’t returned.

“Fine, nephew.” She said mysteriously.

•••••

There were many things Fleur Delacour Weasley loved about her English home, Shell Cottage. She was born and brought up in the heart of Paris, and one couldn’t expect to enjoy such a unadultered view of the sea nor the bounty of wind and light there. At Shell Cottage the only song was the songs of the shorebirds, the only sound was the relentless crushing of the sea waves, not the motor horns of Muggle cars. In the mornings, after her husband left for work, she’d stand on the patio garden with a mug of coffee and watch the entertaining shorebirds. And so many varieties were they! The Sanderlings would glide back and forth over the wet sand as a wave receded. The great blue herons would stride elegantly through waves, breaking on the sand. Seabirds, pelicans, cormorants and gulls would rest and loaf on the beach. Pelicans would fly in v-formation, barely touching the surface of the water. As the day progressed and she got busy in doing the housework, her four years old daughter, Victoire, would build a castle on the sand. When all household chores were done and the day was almost over, Bill would return from office. Victoire would show her papa her newest sand castle, receive ample praises for it and Fleur would end up with her husband to exchange a few well-earned kisses and talk about the day.

That was the routine in Fleur’s quaint little cottage tucked in a quiet corner of the globe. She and Bill were raising their little family in her little home and heaven and wanted to keep it that way.

This morning, however, that peace was gone. Fleur was sitting on the patio garden with a mug of coffee and reading a letter from her old teacher and Beauxbatons Headmistress, Madame Olympe Maxime.

 _Mon petite chou Fleur,_ It read in Madame Maxime’s elegant and larger than normal sized font,

_Hope you are doing well. It seems like ages since we last met. At that time little Victoire was just a toddler and I could fit her in my palm. How old she now? Four, I assume. That’s a big girl! Does she have a decent pet? I have recently purchased an excellent breed of ponies. They are small but very powerful and obedient as a calf. I could send a filly for Victoire. She’ll have nice time riding her._

Fleur’s mood was sour; otherwise she’d have laughed at the thought. Madame Maxime’s love for horses, especially winged horses were no secret and she being her most favourite student, it was no wonder that she’d want to send one for her daughter. She took a small sip from the almost cold coffee and resumed reading the letter for the twentieth time in two days.

_Fleur, do I need to mention how very dear you are to me? I think not. I think you already know that and feel quite proud for it. Based on that cordial relationship that we share I believe I can ask you to do me a favour, any favour and you wouldn’t say no. But I won’t do that. I would never do that._

_One of my very old friends recently wrote to me and said that she’d be in England for a few days. She knows no one there and asked me if I could help her. I told her about you and assured her that you’d be glad to help her in any way possible. Before I go into the details of that, let me first tell you about my friend or better say, friends._

_My friend’s name is Audré and her maiden name is Chombrun. She has another identity through her marriage. That name is Malfoy. Shocking, isn’t it? I know it is._

_Audré’s husband was a man named Morpheus Malfoy. He was Lucius Malfoy’s older brother. Audré’s father was a famous lawyer and her grandfather, the Minister for Magic. Morpheus, Audré and I, we joined the Ministry around the same time and became friends. Then I moved to Beauxbatons and Morpheus and Audré made their careers in the judicial branch. Morpheus became a very renowned Chief Warlock and Audré was the most successful Public Prosecutor of her time. Their children, Julian and Lillian, finished their schooling at Beauxbatons. Nowadays Julian is the second-in-command in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and his sister is an aspiring Wandmaker. I love and trust this family, Fleur, just as much as I love and trust you and your family. They are just as much Malfoy as I am a goblin._

_Now now Fleur, I know, you have legit reasons for detesting the Malfoys and must be wondering why I never mentioned about them to you, especially after Jean Granger’s case. The reason is very simple. Morpheus passed away almost ten years ago and after losing her husband, Audré kind of isolated herself from everything, even from me. But I love my friend, and that’s the reason when Audré wrote to me, asking for a little help after all these years, the first person that popped in my head was you. Without asking you, I wrote to her, gave her your address and asked her to contact you when she went to England. I leave the rest upon your conscience. But one thing I assure you, Fleur, if you really trust me you’ll not regret helping Audré._

_Do let me know what happens._

_Love to my little Victoire from,_

_Madame Maxime._

Ever since the arrival of this letter, Fleur’s mental peace has sustained a major disruption. She had sat still for a very long time, not knowing how to react. Receiving a letter from her old teacher asking to help one of her old friends was neither very unnatural nor unexpected. In fact, that was the most normal and accepted way of conduct. Malfoy or not, Audré and she had many things in common. They were both Frenchwoman married to an Englishman. They both loved their husbands dearly. In fact by the looks of it, Audré loved her husband to the point of isolating herself after his death. Now she wished to visit his old school. Fleur should not have any problems in offering her her assistance.

But should she do it?

Fleur trusted Madame Maxime and knew she would never misuse it. Had that been the case, she could have lied to her or asked her friend to keep her other identity, the affiliation with the Malfoys, a secret. There was no way she could have suspected it or unearthed it without them mentioning it. But Madame Maxime, with all that she knew about Hermione’s case, hadn’t done that. She has been truthful to Fleur, her favourite pupil. In her very well written letter she has emphasized that she trusted Fleur and her friend, Audré both and that the name _Malfoy_ shouldn’t get in the way of their knowing each other.

But Fleur was still unconvinced. For one, she has never heard anything about this Morpheus Malfoy. Her knowledge on British Wizarding families were limited but she knew the vile Malfoys well enough to never think that they could have another branch in any other country, especially her homeland, France. For another, she didn’t feel quite right about the entire business. Madame Maxime knew everything and yet she has asked for her help. She has even given Audré her address without her permission. Fleur didn’t know whether she should be annoyed, or irritated or angry about it. So much was missing from the entire picture that taking a decision without knowing everything first would be utter foolishness.

It was Bill who came up with the simple solution for the complex problem. After Fleur shared the letter’s contents with him, he remained silent for a very long minute.

“Well I have never heard of anyone called Morpheus Malfoy.” He had said gravely, “I always thought Lucius was the only son of his father.”

Fleur had thought the same.

“Who is this Audré Chombrun anyway?” Bill had asked, looking up at the name from the letter, “Do you know anything about this family, the Chombruns?”

Fleur had shaken her head, never remembering hearing that name in her entire life. “I can ask papa.” She had suggested after a while but Bill shook his head.

“There is no need for that.” He had said, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful, “Our problem is not Audré _Chombrun_ , Fleur. She could be from any family she likes. Our main problem is the name _Malfoy_. Right? You are wondering if they have somehow come to know about Hermione and Adrian.”

Fleur had nodded, admitting that fear to Bill. Indeed Audré’s being a Chombrun was not the great issue here. Fleur feared that somehow the Malfoys have caught a whiff of Adrian’s existence. But try as she might she couldn’t explain how that could happen. No one but Bill and she knew about Hermione and her son and they haven’t shared it with anyone. The Malfoys, she had read on the newspaper have sustained a heavy loss in the family when all three sons of Draco and his wife died under ‘mysterious’ circumstances. The Greengrasses were, Bill had overheard at his work, very angry with the Malfoys for it and they have therefore, left England for a while. No one knew where they were now.

“Don’t worry, Fleur, I’ll ask dad about this Morpheus Malfoy.” Bill had said in the end, patting gently on Fleur’s shoulder, “I don’t think the Malfoys know anything about Hermione or Adrian. We would have known it, wouldn’t we? It would have been in the newspapers, _The Half-blood Malfoy and all._ Rita would have made a fortune out of it.”

Fleur had agreed, feeling slightly relieved. Bill was right. Maybe, she was worrying for no reason at all.

The following day was Sunday and Bill was at home.  After he went to office on Monday Fleur received the second letter. It was from the same lady Madame Maxime has mentioned, Audré Chombrun Malfoy. The writing was neat and small, as if belonging to someone whose thoughts were very arranged.

 _Madame,_ It read,

_I hope I find you well. I was given your address by an old friend, Olympe. I had asked her for a French guide and she suggested you and sent me your address. Allow me to continue if it’s not a big trouble for you._

_My chief reason for visiting England is to visit Hogwarts. My late husband, Morpheus Malfoy was a pupil there. He passed away ten years ago but I never got the chance to visit his old school. Also I have some very personal reasons to not feel safe in England. Hence, the delay in making the trip._

_It’s my first time in Britain and I don’t have anyone here. The only person I know is Professor Slughorn. I had written and informed him about my wish to visit Hogwarts. He replied that he’d be glad to welcome me. If it’s not a trouble for you, could you please take me there? Olympe tells me that your husband, like mine, is an Englishman and you know Hogwarts very well, having spent a year there for the prestigious Triwizard Tournament._

_I await your kind response._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Audré Chombrun Malfoy._

Fleur sat thundered for a very long time, then folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope that bore address of a hotel: the Rosings at Piccadilly Circus. Audré Chombrun Malfoy was staying there. She proceeded to do the housework but somehow felt extremely restless inside. The day itself was dragging slowly and when Victoire asked her mother to come out and see her newest castle, Fleur replied that she was having a headache. The little girl returned to her game looking slightly crestfallen. They had a very quiet lunch and when the day finally came to an end, Fleur started waiting impatiently for Bill.

Why was he so late? Fleur paced in the kitchen and checked the clock every two minutes. What would she do now? Should she send a reply to Audré saying she wasn’t available?

Moments turned to minutes, minutes turned hours. Bill returned an hour later than his usual time and looked very restful, the complete opposite of what Fleur felt inside.

“Is everything alright, honey?” He asked the moment he walked into their humble dwelling and saw Fleur’s face, all white and tense.

“Papa, maman has headache.” Victoire replied on her mother’s stead. Silent and not waiting for him to change, Fleur handed him the second letter. Bill picked up Victoire, gave her a sweet kiss on the rosy cheek and settled at the table with the letter. For five long minutes there was no talk in their home.

“Can this starving man have some food?” He asked, once the reading was done, “Relax, Fleur, it’s not what you are thinking.”

Fleur didn’t know what she was thinking. All she knew was that she didn’t want to turn down Audré Chombrun’s request to help her. After all that Madame Maxime has done for Hermione Fleur would call herself an ungrateful bitch if she couldn’t come off to any help to her old teacher at all. But at the same time, she was having a weird foreboding sense that a storm was about to come and this Audré was somehow related to it.

“I talked to dad today.” Bill started once Fleur set before him a pecan pie and a large mug of tea, “You’ll be surprised to hear what he told me.”

“Papa, take my pie! Take my pie!” little Victoire was sitting on their kitchen table, eating a small pie alone which she offered to her father. Bill smiled sweetly, took a small bite from her pie and started leisurely.

“There _was_ a man called Morpheus Malfoy. He was Abraxas Malfoy’s eldest son, and Lucius Malfoy’s elder brother. Their mother was a woman named Medusa. Dad said she was not an Englishwoman. He couldn’t tell me where she was from.”

“Morpheus attended Hogwarts around dad’s time. Mum and dad were batch mates and Gryffindors. Morpheus was two years younger and as it happens with the Malfoys, was a Slytherin. Dad said he was a strange fellow. Malfoys usually strut around Hogwarts with a few cronies and bully students. That’s what Lucius used to do too and his cronies were Nott, Goyle and Crabbe seniors. Morpheus, dad said, had no friends. He also didn’t strut or bully. He was a very quiet guy. No one ever remembers him cursing anyone. Students would not befriend him but no one could claim that they have returned empty handed if they had ever asked Morpheus for some kind help. Dad personally knew a few ungrateful fellows who used to borrow money regularly from Morpheus and never cared to return.”

Bill paused to take the tea and pie.

“No one knows what happened to him when he graduated from Hogwarts. Not even dad. Some said he joined Voldemort, like his brother. Some said he didn’t because he was not that type. The Malfoys don’t work so no one knew what he did. People also didn’t have curiosity towards him. Then a few years after he graduated, a rumour was spread that Morpheus has left his home and gone to France. People talked about it for a few days, made a storm in a teacup. Then it all died out and everyone forgot about Morpheus Malfoy.”

“Dad was amazed when I asked him about Morpheus. Asked me where I came by that name. I told him about your letter. Dad said he had heard somewhere that Morpheus had married a French lady with pretty influential backgrounds. He doesn’t know her name but he remembers that the Malfoys were not happy to hear that news. Maybe they were hoping he’d return home, defeated. I asked him if he knew why Morpheus left home. Dad said that it was bound to happen because the two brothers never got along well, even at Hogwarts. Lucius detested Morpheus for his lack of proper Wizarding pride. He never wasted an opportunity to insult him, even in public. Then I asked dad if Morpheus had any old teachers left at Hogwarts. He said McGonagall was one. She was their Transfiguration teacher. There is also Sprout, who taught Herbology. The Slytherin Head of the House was Slughorn; he taught them Potions. All the other teachers are either dead now or too old to remember Morpheus well.”

Fleur listened to the entire story intently, not interrupting Bill for once. Audré and her husband, by the look of it, were victims of the Malfoys. Slowly her restless soul found its peace and she sighed.

“I know Bill…” She rubbed her eyes wearily, wondering how to put it all, “…you are thinking that I kind of overreacted to this letter.”

“I never thought you overreacted.” Bill said solemnly, accepting another bite of pecan pie from Victoire’s. The little girl loved to feed her big toy, her father and feel very pleased about it.

“But I did.” Fleur said calmly, “You see Bill, when I married you and decided to settle down here, in this quiet life, a lot of my friends thought I have lost my mind. They thought I belonged to some palace and in the arms of a prince who’d wrap me all up in expensive jewels and satin. But my dream of home was very different. My home would be where I’ll be free. I don’t mind making both ends meet. But my husband should understand and appreciate me.” She paused briefly enough to exhale deeply, “Imagine a life when you don’t have a home, your family, your papa, your mama and the man you love. Imagine something so terrible happened that you had to leave everything behind. The beast that did it wasn’t even punished. How would you feel then?”

“I don’t know.” Bill replied a moment of contemplation, “I really don’t. I am a man and our perspective of life is different from women. I have never heard a man saying that he fears attacked by a man if he went out after dark, alone. A man’s worst fear or humiliation is not being violated. The worst that can happen to them is death or their family’s death. But women suffer the threat of being tortured. So, Fleur, I won’t judge you if you dislike the Malfoys more I ever did. It’s a bond only a woman can share with a woman.”

“They took away her everything.” Fleur said simply, “Home, dreams, her friends, her family, her plans for her life, everything. I would have gone mad if it were me. It’s a wonder she survived. _Adrian_ helped her to survive.”

“I love Adrian!” Victoire piped happily and jumped into his father’s lap, “Papa I love Adrian!” She told him, as if to establish the point more firmly, “I’ll give him a castle.”

Bill and Fleur laughed and the tension in their little cottage broke. Victoire was one and a half years younger than Adrian and was a great fan of Hermione’s little son. Adrian too loved the little girl and adored her like his own little sister. The kids got along very well and whenever Fleur visited France, they’d play in their house garden all. Victoire would build castles and Adrian would supply her earth. Bill and Fleur knew that their daughter was a clever little girl. They have, therefore, explained to her that Hermione was grandpa Gustave’s niece, Jeanne. That has taken care of the possibility of Harry or Ron ever finding out about Hermione from Victoire’s references.

Bill left the table but Fleur remained seated. After the day’s work and an immense pressure of tension, she was feeling pretty tired now. It has turned out well and all her worries had been pointless. Now she could contact Audré Chombrun, with a relieved heart.

Fleur Summoned a quill and a parchment. She needed to pen a reply to Audré Chombrun’s letter.

•••••

The box Geccemp pushed towards Hermione was a brown leather one, similar to the one Alexis had given her with the ruby ring inside. She eyed it, silent, knowing what was inside.

“I am not forcing you to do it, Jean.” The goblin said, his wrinkled and ugly features solemn, “You can happily deny and I won't mind. I’ll just tell Monsieur Chombrun Malfoy that our Chief Curse Breaker wasn’t available to curse break his mother’s ring.”

Hermione reached out and picked up the box. It was an old one. Age has left its imprints on the box; the leather was worn out at places. She opened the lid. Inside a beautiful blue diamond ring glittered proudly.

Should she refuse to curse Break a ring just because it belonged to Draco Malfoy’s aunt? Hermione wondered. But she hadn’t said no to Curse Break Draco Malfoy’s entire Malfoy vault. Then what has this unknown woman and this ring has done to her that a man who had explicitly asked for her involvement based on what he had heard about her fame, should be denied of his service? Wouldn’t it be unprofessional? Wouldn’t it be plain and blind prejudice?

“It’s alright, sir. I can do it.” Hermione replied, sensing that Geccemp, no matter what he said was actually waiting for her to accept the task.  

The aged goblin’s somewhat ugly but kind features brightened up, “I knew it! I knew you’d never fail me, Jean.” He said, slamming on his desk cheerfully, “Not for anything are you my Chief Curse Breaker. You know how to keep your personal and professional lives separate.”

Hermione was always uncomfortable when it came to open praises. She pocketed the box, thanked Geccemp and left his office.

Back to work on Monday morning, Hermione hasn’t had much time to take breath. She has spent a very busy morning struggling with all the new cursed objects that had arrived and filled her lab during her absence. Her subordinates, the other Curse Breakers had worked too but nothing was passed to their owners until the Gringotts Chief Curse Breaker placed her _Seal of Evaluation_ on it. It took Hermione almost six hours to clear up the two bucket full of jewelries and other valuable items that awaited her seal. Then Claudia, her intern, turned up and tore her away from her office for lunch. They chatted on her Brussels tour and ate. Claudia, by nature was a happy go lucky young lady and she asked Hermione if the rosy glow tinge on her cheeks was the result of a new and blooming romance. Hermione hadn’t replied and returned to her lab after visiting Geccemp’s office en-route to talk about the ring.

Hermione opened the lid and placed the box on her desk. The blue diamond ring dazzled again, as if inviting her to put it on. Hermione, a seasoned Curse Breaker now, didn’t accept the offer. That was part of a curse. Any cursed object would try to allure someone to use it. She casted a few charms on the ring, trying to identify the presence of the curse.

As she worked, her mind somehow wandered to the owner. Strangely it had never occurred to her to ask Apolline about Audré Chombrun Malfoy. They had talked about other matters, mostly Draco and his sudden visit to France but never about his aunt’s family. All she knew about them was Julian, Malfoy’s French cousin, was the second-in-command in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and he had said that Draco and his mother were visiting France on his mother’s invitation to rekindle their old relationship. But what happened between Lucius Malfoy and his brother still remained the ultimate mystery.

While at Brussels, Hermione had wanted to obtain more information on the French Malfoys but somehow it seemed unimportant now. The era of the Malfoys was over. She had her son and Alexis. They were going to have a nice little family. Who cared about the Malfoys and their dirty family fights? She, Hermione Jean Granger, certainly had better things to employ her time with.

Hermione casted another _Curse Detection Charm_ on the blue diamond and it came out clean. It was the seventh time that that has happened. Did it mean that the ring was safe? Definitely not. Hermione couldn’t be sure until she tested all that the Belgian Gringotts goblins had taught her on the cursed diamonds.

The last thought Hermione had on the blue diamond ring’s owner was pretty strange. Where was Audré Chombrun Malfoy now? What was she doing? Did she know who was Curse Breaking her diamond ring? Did she know what her nephew had done to her?

Only time could answer that question.

•••••

The Rosings as a hotel was excellent if not close to the Palace Hotel in luxurious amenities. Located at the most convenient intersection of Piccadilly Circus, it was close to most major shopping and entertainment areas in the West End. At the southeastern side of the circus stood the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain, with the bronze statue of the Greek God Anteros, the symbol of selfless love. In the evenings, the circus square was illuminated by numerous neon lights of advertising hoardings. There were not many brave souls alive who had visited London and not Piccadilly.

Audré, however, paid the famous square no extra attention. Time was limited and she has just won her freedom from the haunting atmosphere of Malfoy Manor. Upon her check in, she spent an hour not admiring the night view of the circus but writing a few letters. One she wrote to her children, addressing it to her son, Julian. He was the only other soul aware of some of her fears for Malfoy Manor and was worried for his mother, hence that mysterious silence that Lillian had written to her. She wrote another to Narcissa and informed her that she and Draco has safely landed on the English soil. She wrote a third to Professor Slughorn and a last one to Fleur Delacour.

Audré was a methodical person and did nothing without legit reasons. She harboured no interest or old fascination for Hogwarts; that was appropriate for kids, not for an elderly woman of her age and social status. The reason to come and stay at the Rosings was to be able to work at peace, without Draco breathing down her neck. Her mission was to find out who Jean Granger really was and for that, she had to start from the scratch: Dumbledore’s Army.

The manager of Palace Hotel had been invaluable in providing her with help and wondering whether she would receive the same treatment from the manager of The Rosings, Audré left her suite after dinner. Upon her enquiry, a uniformed wizard at the reception gave her a clerk who took her to the manager’s office.

The manager was a middle aged man named Zevariah Smith. He welcomed Audré to his office with a smile and politely enquired for any complaints regarding the hotel’s service.

“I have none so far.” Audré assured him pleasantly, accepting a seat at the manager’s table, “I was at the Palace Hotel before I came here. Their manager, Monsieur Leopold, highly recommended your hotel when I was told him about my next stop, London.”

Mr. Smith’s smile broadened. “Yes, the Palace Hotel and the Rosings have shared a long history of cordial relationship. We recommend our guests who visit Brussels to stay there and they also do the same. Is it Madame’s first time in England?” he asked, seemingly trying to figure out the reason behind her night visit.

“Yes.” Audré replied, wondering how to begin it all. Her initial plan was to find a book on Hogwarts that might have a mention of the group named Dumbledore’s Army and she had come to the manager for a recommendation or a possible way to provide her with one. “I am a historian and I plan to write a book on Hogwarts.”

“Write a book on Hogwarts?” the manager took the bait immediately, looking pleasantly surprised, “Merlin, that’s a great news!”

Audré smiled modestly, “Well, it’s really hard to find good books on Hogwarts outside Britain. The ones I found were very poorly written.” She paused, wondering how to put it, “I am looking for something rich and more informative, you know, something that has everything on Hogwarts. Can you help me find one?”

“Of course I can!” The manager cried in delight, his eyes shining at the idea of hosting a famous Wizarding historian, “We have a private library in our hotel. It’s full of books written by the _British_ Wizarding historians. I bet you can find at least a hundred and fifty _only_ on Hogwarts.”

“A hundred and fifty?” Audré repeated wondering how long it would take her to read all those books to find out what she looked for on Dumbledore’s Army, “Actually I am looking for something with a bit of a more modern feeling. Hogwarts is nearly a thousand years old. Its history is extensive. My book basically focuses on the modern day Hogwarts. Is there any book like that?”

“Modern day Hogwarts…Ummm…” the manager scratched his chin thoughtfully, “It’s really very hard to pinpoint, Madame, but…I think…yes…yes…” his eyes lit up, “… _Hogwarts: A History_ would the best for you. It touches all the necessary details, starting from the very beginning, when the school was established to modern date, to the Battle of Hogwarts that killed You-Know-Who off. Yes, that’d be just fine for your research.”

Audré nodded, finding it really interesting that how Voldemort’s fear, even seven years after his death, still ruled over the hearts of British magical community that he was still not named in public.

“I believe you are a Hogwartian yourself.” She placed a leg over another, her lawyer eyes giving the manager a good scrutiny. The brown haired and brown eyed man couldn’t be more than thirty-five. It was quite possible that he has, like most Britons, received his magical education at Hogwarts.

The manager smiled for the umpteenth time and nodded. “I was a Hufflepuff. My entire family was.” He showed her a portrait that hung behind his desk. In it an immensely fat lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig, expensive jewelries and brilliant pink flowing set of robes was looking at her reflection into a small jeweled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks, “That’s my great aunt, Hepzibah Smith. She was a descendant of the great Helga Hufflepuff herself.”

“I see.” Audré blinked hard, trying to get rid of the dazzling impression of the pink, fat lady from her retinas, “Helga Hufflepuff was, if my memory serves me right, the Founder of the Hufflepuff House.”

The manager smiled proudly, looking impressed by Audré’s knowledge, “You are right, Madame.” He nodded, “She was the Founder of Hufflepuff House and my family, the Smiths, are her direct descendents. This hotel once belonged to my great aunt Hepzibah. She died issueless and the property was passed down to my father.”

“Well in that case you can help me in writing my book.” Audré tried to look interested, formulating how to continue this conversation, “Books are not always sufficient. You can provide me with genuine and inside information on Hogwarts.”

“That’ll be my pleasure.” The manager grinned, “I have a request, though, Madame. Do try to write a little bit more on Hufflepuffs and their glorious past. Our house is the only one that never turned out a Dark Lord. People need to know that. Even Gryffindors are linked to some of the nastiest dark wizards world has known.”

“Yes, of course.” Audré for a fact knew that Hufflepuffs were seriously underrated and looked down upon by other Hogwarts Houses, especially the Slytherins, “That reminds me, I had read somewhere that Hogwarts students form fan clubs on their teachers. Is it true? I find myself shamefully ill-informed about British etiquette.”

“We form fan clubs on our teachers?” The manager looked close to laughing hard, “I don’t know who spreads such rumours, Madame, but _we_ don’t form fan clubs on our teachers. We respect them, of course. But fan clubs? That’s an absurd idea.”

“But…I am sure…” Audré deliberately appeared skeptic, “…I read about a Dumbledore fan club…in newspapers. They said it was called Dumbledore’s Army.”

“Dumbledore’s Army was not a fan club, Madame.” The manager replied patiently, “It was more like a defense club. Harry Potter, I believe you have heard of him, formed it to teach fellow students to defend themselves. His friends, Weasley and Granger were in it too. I know it because my brother, Zacharias, was one of the founding members of Dumbledore’s Army.”

“Really?” Audré’s ears hadn’t missed the word Granger. Was it the same Granger she was looking for? “Do you have their photograph or something? I could use it for my book.” She supplied.

“Ummm…” The manager thought for a moment. “Can you please give me a moment? I’ll Floo my brother and ask him if he has one.”

Audré nodded, her heart beating steadily and quite fast. The manager left his seat, went to the fireplace and threw a pinchfull of Floo powder in it. He crouched down, talked to someone and then returned to his desk.

“Zach says he is coming.” He declared happily, “When I told him about your book he said, he’d love to help you.”

“That’s very kind of your brother.” Audré remarked cautiously. By the looks of it, the Smith brothers were trying to persuade her to write a book on the Hufflepuffs rather than on Hogwarts. She, however, had no problems as long as she got what she looked for.

Ten minutes later a man not older than twenty five climbed out of the Floo fireplace, dusting his robes and looking very well dressed for this hour of the night. He looked almost like his brother except he was blonde.

“Zacharias Smith, Madame.” He came to Audré and bowed courteously, “Brother tells me that you are writing a book on Hogwarts and need assistance to write Hufflepuffs.”

“I do.” Audré stifled a laugh that was trying to break out any moment and replied solemnly. Zacharias Smith was being unnecessarily extravagant in his manners. “Actually I came here looking for a good book and found this very kind man.” She gestured at the manager, “He said that you were the founding member of a group called Dumbledore’s Army. I thought I’d write an elaborate chapter on them. The readers love to read new staff they didn’t know about Hogwarts.”

“Of course they do.” Zacharias sat down and slammed on the table, “They deserve to know the truth. They deserve to know what we, Hufflepuffs, did for Hogwarts. Not many people know that! Most people love to give credits to the Gryffindors. Gryffindors are this! Gryffindors are that! But it was me, a _Hufflepuff_ , who gave Potter the idea to form that Army. It was dark times, Madame, dark times.” He said grimly, “You-Know-Who was back. Potter was telling everybody but no one would believe him. I was the one who believed him and asked fellow Hufflepuffs to join the Army.”

“Really?” Audré leaned forward. She was having a peculiar feeling that Zacharias wasn’t being entirely truthful.

“Yes!” Zacharias cried loudly, as if trying to prove his point, “Potter’s smart pals didn’t have a clue on what to do. Weasley was complete wart. He knows nothing except eating. And Granger? She’s always had her nose buried in a book. They had no idea about the real world.” 

“Excuse me a second.” Audré drew out her wand and conjured a piece of parchment and a quill, sitting before Zacharias like a journalist hungry for news, “Pray continue.”

“We met at Hog’s Head.” Zacharias looked as if he’s been awarded the title of the most handsome man on earth and was giving an interview, “It’s a pub in Hogsmeade, a village near Hogwarts. Potter told us his experience. Everyone thought he was lying and making it all up. You can’t blame them of course. People were terrified at the idea of having You-Know-Who back. I persuaded them. Told them Potter couldn’t be lying about something so serious. People gave it a thought and agreed to form the Army. Then I asked Granger to make a list of the members.”

“Granger what?” Audré asked the one question she has carefully made this web for, “What’s her full name?”

“Hermione.” Zacharias replied with a frown, “Hermione Granger. She was a Muggleborn Gryffindor. They usually don’t believe in these staff.”

Hermione Granger? Muggleborn witch? A Gryffindor? Audré wrote it all down, her head was spinning with the newest discovery. Was this Hermione Granger the Jean Granger she was looking for? But how was that possible? Draco was a Malfoy, a Slytherin and everyone knew their detest for Muggleborns. Why would he sleep with a Muggleborn Gryffindor and make a baby?

Zacharias continued for another half an hour, about how he had helped in finding an ideal headquarter and how many spells he had helped Potter to teach the Dumbledore’s Army members. He even claimed to make the fake galleons that group used to communicate. Audré listened but didn’t interrupt.

“Do you have their picture or something?” She asked when the long tirade was over, “I can use it for my book.”

Zacharias shook his head, looking disappointed.

“It was a secret group, Madame.” He replied in a hush, “We couldn’t afford to take photos.”

“I see.” Audré smiled and stood up, rolling her parchment which she’d throw into a bin as soon as she left this office, “It’s quite late.” She checked the clock which said it was almost ten thirty at night, “Thank you Zacharias for your invaluable help. I’ll definitely write what I collected from you and when the book comes out, you’ll receive a signed copy and full credits.”

The Smith brothers looked obliged by her declaration. Zevariah, the hotel manager, even assured to send her a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ personally.

Audré returned to her suite deep in thought. She had visited the manager’s office in the hope of a book on Hogwarts. Now she had all the essential details on Dumbledore’s Army minus their photo. Where could she find a photo of this Hermione Granger? Where was this woman, by the way?

The Rosings manager kept his promise and sent Audré a latest edition of _Hogwarts: A History_. After a late night tea, she settled down in her balcony with it, reading the book and occasionally looking up at the Piccadilly Circus, at the many neon hoardings that dazzled and broke the silence of a still London night.

 _Hogwarts: A History_ was a very well written book. Audré found its language simple and entertaining. The latest edition had everything up to the Battle of Hogwarts very well covered, with two long chapters dedicated entirely to it.

By the time the night was over, Audré was done with the book. She has come across the name Hermione Granger in three places: the Second Opening of the Chamber of Secrets, Dumbledore’s Army and the Battle of Hogwarts. In all these area she was only mentioned. To Audré’s dismay the book had no photo of her.

After the breakfast on Monday, Audré posted the letters to Slughorn and Fleur. She then asked the Hotel receptionist for a tour guide. She was visited by an idea on a possible area to look for Hermione Granger’s photo when the morning newspaper had arrived.

The Archives section at the Daily Prophet building, when Audré visited it with the help of the hotel guide at midday, was almost deserted. There were rows and rows of shelves full of giant leather bound tomes that contained old issues of the most read English Wizarding newspaper. A sour looking witch greeted Audré and when she asked for the news clippings of the Second Wizarding War, she placed before her, five gigantic and dusty tomes with a loud thud.

Audré glanced at them and sighed but didn’t lose heart. She took the tomes to a corner, thanked the guide for his service and settled down. She took a deep decisive breath and opened the first volume.

The day passed. The sun came up in the middle sky and started to set slowly. Through an open window in the archive section, noise of the street and traffic below reached Audré’s ears. She continued turning the pages of the Daily Prophet archive volumes and looked for any news about Hermione Granger that had her photograph. 

There were at least five hundred news covering Lord Voldemort’s death and all of them mentioned mostly the man who did it: Harry Potter. Potter’s intelligence, Potter’s courage, Potter’s stubbornness, Potter’s flawless plans, Potter’s self sacrifice, it was all about him. Reading them Audré was strongly reminded of Zacharias Smith’s contempt that his house and their roles didn’t receive their deserved place. What with the Hufflepuffs, even Potter’s friends were not properly mentioned. Audré found Ronald Weasley’s name in three different spellings under three different articles. In one it was Roland. In another it was Rolald and in the last one, it was Reland. Hermione’s name didn’t suffer that unfortunate fate. Her name was well-spelled but there was no photo of her in any news whatsoever. Mostly she was mentioned as Potter’s girlfriend who had given him emotional support and helped him in bringing Voldemort down.

Emotional support? Audré frowned at the words for a long moment. Most men, at some point of a long war, needed to have their other needs taken care of. Hence the idea of Comfort Women that the Muggle armies were regularly supplied with, no matter how deplorable the idea seemed. Did that mean that Hermione Granger was sleeping with Potter? But she had the boy with Draco, didn’t she?

Audré stretched her neck. It was starting to ache now, she had been reading too long. The sun has almost set and the Daily Prophet office would soon be closed for the visitors. Going rapidly through the rest of the news columns, she returned them to the witch and came out of the archive section.

The Daily Prophet office was set in a nifty corner of Westminster, by the river Thames. This part of the London was famous for its iconic monuments such as the Palace of the Westminster, its clock tower, Big Ben and a relatively modern addition, the London Eye. Audré stood on the pavement for a while, her mind roving down the details that she had collected on Hermione and Jean Granger.

_‘…The Wizarding world is indebted to your mother for the sacrifices and hard choices she made to make it happen. You should be proud of her…’_

Eva’s voice rang inside her head and Audré started walking. Before her laid the Westminster Bridge. She could do well by stretching her legs a little.

‘ _Jean, I understand your fear when it comes to that bastard Malfoy. And I don’t blame you for it. Honestly speaking, anyone in your place, anyone, no matter how big a Gryffindor she was, will be afraid. It’s very normal.’_

Jean Granger was a Gryffindor? Audré, halfway through the Westminster Bridge walkway, came to a sudden halt. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor, she knew that fact. Did Eva mean that Jean Granger was a Gryffindor too? Or was it just for comparison’s sake, since courage was the most prominent quality the Gryffindors were so well known for? Could Jean Granger be Hermione Granger? Or was Hermione Granger actually Jean Granger?

But Hermione Granger was in Australia, with her parents. Audré remembered all the five news that The Daily Prophet had announced it to the readers. No one seemed very sad about it or interested in her return. Potter had married a woman named Ginny Weasley. She was his best friend, Ron Weasley’s sister. He too seemed to have forgotten all about Hermione Granger, whoever she was to him, friend or girl friend.

At half past seven Audré returned to the Rosings and found her nephew sitting at the lounge and staring at the entrance door with the interest of an avid bird hunter looking for a nice prey.

“Aunt, you came!” He declared with a sigh of relief, as if he had expected to never see her again, “I have been waiting here for five hours.”

Audré felt a sadistic pleasure in keeping Draco waiting, since the Malfoys were notoriously famous for not waiting for anyone, even their deaths.

“I went for a walk, nephew.” She said airily, “I wanted to see the Muggle London.”

“Is that why you left the manor like that?” Draco came to her and asked, not looking very pleased about it, “I thought the manor meant something to you. I mean,” He paused for a nano second, “It’s your husband’s home. It’s your home.”

Audré stared at Draco for a very long moment, preferring not to talk on that topic. She knew what the Malfoy Manor meant to her. She knew what a haunting past it had. Didn’t Draco know? There was very little chance. Or he knew it all and was feigning ignorance? Just as he had feigned ignorance about Jean Granger and knew exactly how they had made Adrian.

“Let’s go to my room, nephew.” Audré finally said. Draco shrugged and followed her to the lift. They came up on the second floor and she walked back to her suite.

The lights were already on. The impressive chandelier in her suite was glowing with the lights of many candles. The room service has already performed their duties and the place looked spotlessly clean. Audré took off her shoes, slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and took a seat by the empty fireplace. Draco took seat across her.

“Letters?” he said, reaching out for the small heap that was placed on a silver tray on the centre table, as though they were his property, “From Hogwarts?” he read the address on one and looked up at Audré, “and from…”

“Fleur Delacour.” Audré snatched her letters from Draco’s grasp in one neat sweep of her hand before he could finish, “Guess you never learnt or were never _taught_ to regards letters as private, nephew? Care to explain what Narcissa used to do all day at home if she never taught you such common manners?”

“I am sorry, aunt.” Draco said coldly, his grey eyes fixed unblinkingly on Audré, “Don’t talk bad about my mother.”

“Don’t _make_ me, nephew.” Audré challenged with equal confidence, and after sending a small request to the Room Service for some tea, opened her letters, feeling delighted.

Slughorn’s letter was as she had expected it to be. He’d be happy to welcome her anytime at Hogwarts. Audré put it away and proceeded for the real one, the one from Fleur Delacour.

 _Dear Madame,_ it read in a neat feminine writing,

_I was delighted to receive your letter this morning. Madame Maxime is my mentor and her old friend means a lot to me. I’ll be glad to provide you with any assistance. I have been living in England for almost ten years now and know the country very well._

_In your letter you expressed desire to visit Hogwarts. That’s very simple. I can take you on a side-along apparition to the village of Hogsmeade. Hogwarts is just five to ten minutes walking distance from there. We can go there on foot. Let me know a time of your convenience and I’ll present myself._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Fleur D. Weasley._

Audré folded the letter and slipped it into the envelope. The tea has arrived and looking up she found Draco giving her a solemn and contemplative look.

“Don’t stare so hard, nephew.” Audré smirked and poured two cups of tea, offering him one, “You’ll burn holes on my head.”

“Why did you contact Slughorn?” Draco asked, taking the tea cup from and leaning back, placing a long leg over the other, “Are you going to Hogwarts?”

“I am.” Audré replied calmly, wondering why he seemed so uncomfortable and serious about it, “Any problems?”

“No, not one.” Draco replied with a dead frown, “But if I remember it well you are here to help me find Adrian.”

“Adrian is in France, Draco.” Audré said and suddenly remembered Jean Granger telling her in that Muggle super shop in Brussels that she and Adrian lived in Paris, “We are in England.” She chose not to disclose that fact.

“Because _Fleur_ is in England.” Draco said pointedly, seemingly annoyed by the idea that Audré was not working as promised and was wasting her time, “ _She_ knows where my son _lives_. She knows how they ended up there. You know everything, aunt, you know everything and you...”

“And I?” Audré took a leisurely sip from her tea and demanded coolly, “And I _what_ , dear nephew?”

Draco stared at Audré for a long moment, as if having an internal battle whether or not to lash out on her. 

“Aunt, you were supposed to help me find Adrian.” He said gently, seemingly discarding the idea of enraging Audré once again. He seemed to remember how she had reacted to his screaming on her. “Please concentrate on that. Leave Slughorn, that old dickhead!”

“Dickhead?” Audré arched an eyebrow, “Nice way to address your teacher, Draco _dearest_.”

Draco went red and blinked rapidly to overcome it. “Well…he was never my teacher.” He said indignantly, “He was just a poor substitute for Severus Snape. And he knew nothing except partying with young girls.”

“You don’t seem very pleased with him.” Audré remarked, taking a bite from a scone, “Did he harbour any particular grudge for you?”

“Grudge? Against me?” Draco snorted loudly, as if amused by the absurd idea, “I wouldn’t give him and his little slug clubbers a damn! None of us Slytherins cared to join his cozy, little fan club. He asked me thrice, _personally_. Told me that he knew my grandfather Abraxas very well and wanted me to join his club. I said I had better things to do than be cooped up in a chicken house and chat on the latest design of Italian shoes.”

“I see.” Audré was having the same feeling as she had had when talking Zacharias Smith, “Well, I see no problems in talking about Italian shoes. I heard that they are very fashionable.”

“Aunt,” Draco finished his tea in one long drought, placed the cup on the table and leaned forward, “please, help me! Help me find Adrian. He is the only hope I have.” He fixed his stare with Audré’s, “Don’t you see? I couldn’t live in that manor all alone! Twelve hours and I kind of went mad, thinking about him, my son, my _only_ son! Where is Adrian now? Where did his mother take him? Can I find him? Or is he lost forever? Please,” he reached forward and took her hands, “Help me! Help me find him! I beg you! I beg you!”

“Nephew,” Audré felt that the desperate father in Draco has touched her heart, “I _am_ trying to help you. Trust me. Adrian is not just your son. He is my grandson too, my _only_ grandson.” she smiled at him, “And I love him, I love that kid.”

They stared at each other for a long minute. Then Draco left her hands and sat back, looking relieved.

“Is Fleur taking you to Hogwarts?” He asked, glancing at the two letters.

“Glad that you made the connection.” Audré replied pleasantly, “That’s my ploy, nephew, to have her open up and talk freely before me. You can’t expect her to trust to me when I carry that _Malfoy_ title.”

A small smiled started to spread in Draco’s lips and it broadened. “You are clever, aunt, you are damn clever!” He shook head in amazement, “Now I understand. Why you came here, in this hotel. Fleur would never come near you if you were at Malfoy Manor. She helped them escape, didn’t she? But…” he frowned a little, “Why Slughorn? Why not McGonagall? She was a Gryffindor, the House of prophets and saints. Fleur will trust you even more if you went to visit that bloody old cat.”

Audré knew for a fact that Morpheus’s old Transfiguration teacher was an Animagi who could turn to a cat.

“Because I don’t know her, nephew.” She replied truthfully, “Slughorn was Morpheus’s old Head of the House. So it’s very normal for me to want to visit him. I am taking Fleur or better she is taking me there. On my way, I’ll manage her to talk to me about Adrian and Jean. At least that’s what the plan is, so far. Let’s see what happens tomorrow.”

“I say she’ll get caught.” Draco gave a dreamy smile, as if imagining Fleur as a butterfly that was caught in giant spider web and was thrashing to get free, “With that brain, aunt, there is no way she can escape you.” He stood up and smoothed his black attire, “Would you mind if I book a room and stay here? I want to be as close to you as possible.”

Audré shrugged, “Suit yourself.” She knew Draco feared losing her at this point since she was the only one that could help him unravel the complicated twist he had created for himself.

Draco left and after composing a letter to Fleur, Audré decided to call it a night. She has done all she could to find out who Jean Granger was, behind Draco’s back and now there was nothing else to do then to wait for Fleur to come and take her to Hogwarts. That was where the rest of this story resided, she felt it closely.

Tuesday morning was welcomed by a light shower and a sun that played constant hide and seek. At half past eight, Audré sat well prepared for her journey to Hogwarts.

Fleur was supposed to come at nine and she arrived sharp on time. The hotel clerk brought her to Audré’s suite.

“Bonjour, me cherie.” Audré welcomed Fleur graciously and in French.

“Bonjour Madame.” Fleur nodded elegantly. She was a very pretty lady, even prettier than her younger sister, Gabrielle, whom Audré had seen at Brussels.

“Please have a seat.” Audré took her to the sitting area adjacent to the grand fireplace and offered, “I believe you had no difficulty in coming here.”

“Non.” Fleur replied with a smile, “I have been to London many times. My husband works here. I worked here.”

“Your husband, is he…” Audré craned her neck, and looked over Fleur’s shoulder for a man, “…here? With You?”

“No, he’s at work.” Fleur replied, her cordial smile making her even more beautiful, “He works at the Ministry, at the Goblin Liaison office. He was a Curse Breaker at Gringotts and has extensive experience in dealing them.”

“I see.” Audré smiled, taking some time to know Fleur before she could formulate her next plan, “I have a daughter almost your age, Madame.” Her eyes roved down Fleur’s long silvery hair that was almost like Lillian’s, “She’s still not married but I hope she finds a loving husband very soon.”

“Please call me Fleur. Madame Maxime does.” Fleur bade, “Speaking of my husband, Madame, that reminds me that my father-in-law told me that he knew your husband, Monsieur Morpheus Malfoy. They were both at Hogwarts.”

To Audré that explained why Fleur looked so confident. She has already investigated on Audré and her husband and didn’t look remotely abashed to claim it before her. A good student who did her home work well.  

“Really?” Audré arched a pleasantly surprised eyebrow, “What is your father-in-law’s name?”

“Arthur Weasley.” Fleur replied, “He is an advisor to the Minister for Magic.”

“Arthur Weasley?” Audré repeated, “Well dear, I don’t actually remember my husband’s old classmates. He basically had no friends at Hogwarts.”

“They were not classmates.” Fleur supplied, “Bill’s dad was two years older than him and in Gryffindor.”

“I see.” Audré remarked.

They talked for another fifteen minutes. Audré offered Fleur tea and she refused it politely saying she has just had breakfast.

“But you can’t leave unless we have a cup of tea together!” Audré cried, looking highly disappointed, “What will I tell Olympe? That I let her favourite student go on empty stomach.”

“Well,” Fleur laughed, “then we’ll have a tea after we return from Hogwarts. Is that okay?”

“Fine.” Audré nodded serenely. She now had a very clear idea how to coerce Fleur to talk about Jean Granger.

They left her suite and taking the lift went down to the Rosing’s reception where the Apparition Point was located.  They met the manager downstairs, talking to the concierge.

“Good morning, Madame. I was told that you…” he couldn’t finish. Sensing that he might mention Draco before Fleur, Audré cut in.

“Yes, I am going to Hogwarts, Mr. Smith.” She said with an extra sweet smile, “And this is Madame Fleur Weasley.” She gestured at the lady standing beside her, “She’ll be taking me there.”

The manager’s eyes swept down Fleur’s elegant form and immediately became unfocused by her bedazzling beauty.

“I…I…” he fumbled like a fish out of water, “…You…I welcome you to the Rosings, Madame.”

Fleur threw her silvery blonde hair over her shoulder and gave the manager a curt and dignified nod, “Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

“Have a good time, Madame.” The manager waved at them, grinning broadly. It was not clear to whom he said that, Audré or Fleur.

They started from London at nine thirty and by ten o’ clock, Audré was standing before a pair of wrought iron gates flanked by two columns, each topped with a statue of winged boar. As planned Fleur has taken her on a side-along apparition and brought her to the village of Hogsmeade. Audré had heard from her husband about the Wizarding village and the schools trips they used to have there. They walked to the school, with Fleur showing the way.

Professor Slughorn, it was already set between him and Audré, would send a man to receive her at the gates. That man turned out to be more than just a man.

“Alrigh’ yeh ladies?” The wrought iron gates swung open and a man the size of a small mountain came walking out. His beady black eyes were shining in the sun. An enormous boarhound waggled its tail beside him. When it barked, the sound almost shook the surrounding mountains and a squirrel fell from the tree overhead, startled.

Audré tried not to stare at the man but it was especially difficult when someone was wearing a hairy brown moleskin overcoat, a yellow and orange polka dot neck tie along with a dragon flower the size of a small cabbage in the boutonniere. His tangled salt and pepper beard and mane has recently been tried to be tamed and showed traces of hair gel glued to it like dollops of thick gum. His leather boots were the size of a baby dolphin. When he came to stand before them, she noticed, the top of her head barely reached his elbow.

“That’s Rubeus Hagrid. Madame Maxime’s kinsmen.” Fleur said with a pointed wink.

“I see.” Audré arched a playful eyebrow. Olympe was romantically involved with a Hogwarts staff and they had met during the Triwizard tournament. That solved the mystery behind her enquiry on Audré’s new lover in her letter. “So this is him?”

Fleur nodded but didn’t remark on the matter more.

“Alrigh’ yeh ladies?” Hagrid asked again. Audré was certain now. Olympe’s new love interest had a fair share of giant blood in his veins.

“We are fine, Monsieur Hagrid.” She replied with a gentle smile and bow, “Nice to meet you.”

Hagrid reddened, as if not very comfortable at being bowed at or showed courtesy. “Call me Hagrid. Yeh are Olympe’s friend.” He bade, looking misty eyed. He turned to Fleur next. “So…Fleur…how’s ol’ Bill and lil’ Vic’oire?”

“They are fine.” Fleur replied with a bright smile and small pat on Hagrid’s elbow, which was the highest point she could elegantly reach without tip toeing, “Do you have your special rock cakes? Victoire loves to build castles with them.”

“Lovely girl! _Lovely_ girl!” Hagrid shook his head in wonderment, as if there was nothing more charming in this world than having a little girl to build castle with his rock cakes. “I’ll bake some fer her.”

Passing the wrought iron gates, their group of three started for the main castle. Hagrid took them through a small wood and then by the shores of a vast glassy lake.

“Our carriage stood just over there.” Fleur showed Audré a patch of land on the bank of the lake and reminisced, “Madame Maxime’s horses loved to stay warm.”

Audré understood that Fleur was talking about the Triwizard Tournament, when she had first come to Hogwarts.

“Olympe has good taste in horses.” Hagrid remarked good naturedly, his eyes still having that misty look. He was walking pretty slowly but Audré and Fleur were almost panting, trying to keep up with his giant strides. “I knew you husband, mam.” He whistled merrily and said, “He was a good ol’ chap. Quiet but good.”

Audré was having some difficulty in understanding Hagrid’s thickly accented English but she got the gist.

Hagrid was past thirty five when Morpheus had come to Hogwarts as a first year student. Like all the other Malfoys before him, he was Sorted to Slytherin. He was an unusually quiet boy and didn’t have any friends. But somehow his friendlessness never bothered him; he was self sufficient. He had once given Hagrid a half-dead baby Kneazle to rear.  That Kneazle was the result of his father’s failed experiment to breed a pure Kneazle. Kneazles, Hagrid told the ladies, were mistaken as very aggressive beasts and had a XXX classification by the Ministry of Magic if they were not interbred with another species.

“Hermione had a half-Kneazle cat.” Hagrid stretched his beard thoughtfully, as though suddenly remembering something, “Crookshanks.” He turned to Fleur, “Heard any’hing from her? Know when she’d be back from Aus’ralia? It’s been almost seven years!” 

Audré involuntarily stopped breathing. She knew which Hermione he was talking about. Somehow Jean and Hermione Granger’s departure were around the same timeline, June 1998.

“Oh don’t worry, Hagrid.” Fleur glanced at Audré and said with an extra sweet smile, “She’s fine. She’s with her parents.”

“Yeah…” Hagrid nodded sadly but didn’t talk on the matter more. Audré hid a sigh. If only they had talked a little bit more! But one thing was clear, Morpheus or not, Olympe Maxime’s friend or not, Fleur knew more about Hermione than she let out and was keen to keep it away from Audré’s ears. Did that mean that Hermione was actually Jean?

The forest by the lake was thinning out. Hogwarts was coming closer. Just a few yards from the edge of the forest was a small hut with a tall chimney. Hagrid left the ladies there.

“That’s my hut, mam. Come any time.” He told the ladies graciously. His boarhound barked in agreement. Another squirrel fell from the tree and scampered away.

“Merci, Monsieur.” Audré assured him with a smile, “You are very kind. Olympe is one lucky girl.”

Hagrid went red again but didn’t protest at calling Madame Maxime a ‘girl’. “See yeh later! Gotta bake some cakes fer lil’ Vic’oire.” He waved at them and disappeared inside his hut.

“Let’s go Madame.” Fleur offered Audré and they resumed walking. The grounds were uneven here and slowly rising before meeting with the school castle. The grass was rich green and interspersed with occasional trees. Hither and thither was a rock or two, erecting their heads like the mast of a half-drowned ship, unyielding, undefeated.

“Did I tell you that I didn’t like Hogwarts at first?” Fleur asked as they walked and the castle continued to come closer, “It’s so cold here. There are no fountains, no waterfalls, no gardens, no ice sculptures. No nothing. It is just a plain old castle. I found it very boring.” Fleur said, sounding thoughtful, “But somehow I fell in love with it. I first met my husband here. He got hurt when protecting Hogwarts. We fought with Voldemort here. Now I understand. Hogwarts is not supposed to be beautiful. It was not built that way. It was built to be a home. That’s why they don’t hesitate to die for it.”

Listening to Fleur, Audré wondered why Draco never said or felt that way. After all it was his school and not Fleur’s. But he has always seemed very resentful when talking about Hogwarts, as if the place was nothing but a spot of taint in his otherwise clean Malfoy image. Didn’t he love his school? Where was he during the battle? Was he at the Manor, hiding under a bed like a coward? And where were Jean and Hermione? Were they here, fighting? Jean could be here, she worked for Dumbledore’s Army. But was she pregnant at that time. Did she fight in that state?

“I also didn’t like Hagrid much.” Fleur was saying, noticing that Audré was listening, “He was such a nonsense after downing a bottle or two!” She snorted, “But I like him now. He’s a good man.”

“Why?” Audré asked curtly. They were very close to the main castle now and could see the outline of a man who was waving at them, “He stopped getting drunk?”

“No.” Fleur let out a laugh and shook her head, “He still gets drunk. On my wedding day, Death Eaters had come. They were looking for Harry Potter. He’s like one of our family. Didn’t Madame tell you about him? Harry saved my sister during the tournament.”

Audré shook her head, remembering Draco mentioning that the Death Eaters had gate crushed Fleur’s wedding party. Was Hermione Granger in that party too? Why wasn’t Fleur mentioning her even for once? She had seemed quite proud at being affiliated with Potter. Why not mention his friend then? What was wrong?

“Hagrid was the one who stood before me and Gabrielle.” Fleur finished the rest of the sentence, explaining why she liked the man now, “Said they’d have to pass over his dead body to touch us. Death Eaters were ugly. There was nothing they couldn’t do. But when he growled at them, they didn’t dare come near us.”

Audré half listened to Fleur and nodded occasionally, conveying that she was finding everything interesting. Inside, however, her head was spinning for a possible way to find a link and solid proof between Hermione and Jean Grangers.

“That’s Professor Slughorn.” Fleur said suddenly and broke Audré’s musings. Focusing her gaze at the direction she was pointing, she saw a man in rich green robes. He and a small group of three were standing before the Hogwarts oak front door to welcome them.

Hogwarts, Audré had expected it to be a very old building, its main foundations erected almost a thousand years ago. But now there were turrets, towers, viaducts and wooden bridges attached to the main castle that looked very new. She remembered _Hogwarts: A History_. It was said there that a huge part of the castle was destroyed during the battle with Voldemort and later, was rebuilt.

 “My ladies!” Slughorn exclaimed pompously, “We meet at last!” He rushed to them, took Audré’s left hand into his and kissed it courteously.

Audré had heard a great deal about Morpheus’s old teacher and in her mind’s eyes have made a picture of him. Now that they met she was pleased to see that Professor Horace Slughorn looked exactly how she had imagined him to be. The enormously fat old man with a walrus-like moustache couldn’t be more than five feet and the top his bald head barely reached her bosom. For a second she was privately amused placing herself in Olympe Maxime’s place.

“Bonjour, Professor Slughorn.” Audré courtesied to the gentleman, “I believe I find you well.”

“Never better, my lady, never better!” Slughorn shook his head jovially. His gooseberry eyes were good natured and at the moment they were twinkling with glee, “So glad to see you! We always wondered what happened to Morpheus when he left home.”

“Horace!” A woman warned him, as if annoyed at his civic sense. Slughorn turned to her.

“Oh yes…” He and the lady in tartan robes communicated silently and he turned to Audré again, giving her a bemused smile, “Please allow me to introduce you to…”

“Professor Minerva McGonagall.” Audré took Draco’s advice on befriending with the _bloody old cat_ to earn Fleur’s trust and said, “Square spectacles, tartan robes and a tight bun.” She described her attire, “Morpheus told me all about you, mam.”

“I am so sorry to hear your loss, dear!” McGonagall came forward and shook Audré’s hand, looking sincerely sorry, “I didn’t know until Horace told us.”

Audré nodded with a sad smile. “He said you once detained a Gryffindor who tried to hex him.”

“Oh that!” McGonagall seemed amazed that Audré was aware of such tiny details, “That _Gryffindor_ ” she wrinkled her nose, “was trying to hex Morpheus from back. Merlin knows I have never prejudiced anyone if they hadn’t prejudiced me first. It’s better to have ten Severus Snapes than have one Peter Pettigrew.”

The third member of the group turned out to be a witch named Pomona Sprout. She was Morpheus’s old Herbology teacher and has come to meet his wife. Audré told her about the Smith brothers. The Head of the Hufflepuff House recognized them well.

“Yes, they run a hotel in London.” Sprout didn’t seem remotely astonished that Audré was staying at a hotel when her husband’s family had a manor, “They are all very tall talkers.” She said matter-of-factly.

After the warm welcome the guests were taken to McGonagall’s office. As they followed her, with Slughorn enquiring Audré about her children and their good connections, she looked around the empty Hogwarts corridors, staircases, niches, statues and tapestries and wondered how to bring up the topic of Hermione Granger without raising Fleur’s suspicion. Her companion had been watching her interaction with the teachers silently, and hadn’t spoken a word since they arrived at Hogwarts.

It turned out the Professor McGonagall was currently chairing the post of the Hogwarts Headmistress and her office was full of portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses. As Audré walked in, she met a familiar face.

“Even an experienced fool as me could never have assumed that he’d see you here, Audré.” said Professor Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling behind that half-moon spectacles said, “Welcome to Hogwarts, dear.”

Professor Dumbledore and Morpheus were in regular contact both in professional and personal level. Audré was, therefore, well aware of his eccentric and arguably abnormal sense of humour.

“Fools tread in where angels fear to go, professor, and you know my intelligent level.” She replied with a smile, “Before you I don’t stand a chance.”

“Nitwit and tweaky.” Professor Dumbledore shook his head, highly amused, “Just as I remember the old Audré to be.”

They sat and chatted in McGonagall’s office for a while, mostly on Morpheus’s life in France and how they had met and married. The teachers listened to Audré’s tale with interest and commented that they had all along known that a man like Morpheus could never get along well with someone like Lucius, no matter the blood bond. Somehow, Audré noticed, they never mentioned Draco as if it was a forbidden and uncivil topic. The only thing Slughorn added to the twist was that Draco had once asked him to join Slug Club with the reference of his grandfather, Abraxas. His father, Lucius was at Azkaban at that time and Slughorn had dismissed the subtle request.

“The apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.” He said darkly, earning him a glare from Professor McGonagall.

With each passing moment new and more alarming truths were being revealed to Audré, although the teachers of Hogwarts tried their best to not backbite about the Malfoys before their guest. Audré also sensed that Fleur’s trust in her was growing steadily and she was starting to see her as a separate entity from the Malfoys of Wiltshire. First with Hagrid, then Slughorn, McGonagall, Sprout and lastly Dumbledore himself, the luck’s wind was in her favour. If she couldn’t manage to find more about Hermione Granger in Hogwarts, she could use this trust to gain her mean when they returned to the Rosings.

For a while Slughorn was hinting Audré to visit his office. He had arranged for an elaborate lunch for the French ladies there.

“Our elves cook very well.” He stated proudly, “They make the best Bouillabaisse in entire Britain.”

“The Potions Master has a good knowledge in _our_ cuisine.” Audré flattered him just the right amount, “Fleur stayed here for a year. Let’s hear her opinion.” She turned her attention to the silent woman sitting beside her.

“Hogwarts food is very heavy. Full of oil and gravy.” Fleur said confidently, not caring to be polite before the teachers, “I gained five pounds eating them.”

Professors McGonagall and Sprout exchanged a look of amused skepticism and Slughorn rubbed his round belly at the comment.

“Let’s see how many pounds I gain in one lunch.” Audré remarked airily, “Julian, my son, says that his mother is too slim to be a mother. By the looks of it, if a woman is not plump, she can’t be an ideal mother.” 

Everyone laughed and finally taking leave from McGonagall and Sprout, Audré and Fleur left for Slughorn’s office for lunch. The old professor talked amicably on the way, walking before them and pausing once a while to show around the place and tell them about his contributions to the Battle of Hogwarts.

“There…you see that statue…I dueled with You-Know-Who from there…”

“And that tapestry…Trelawney tripped there and was nearly killed if I hadn’t rescued her…”

Audré listened to Slughorn’s tale of bravery and nodded occasionally. Fleur didn’t look remotely interested. In fact she looked pretty annoyed. After climbing a few moving staircases, going through several tapestries and walking through a large hall with polished suits of armour they finally reached his office.

“My first office was not larger than a water closet.” Slughorn told his guests. The heavy and polished mahogany office door swung open on its own accord as they approached it, “It was close to the Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and would flood every other day. But this one,” He showed them the fairly roomy office with an adjacent private balcony, “is quite up to my standards. I had to do some renovation, of course. All those curtains and furniture.” He gestured at the upholstered sofas set before the fireplace and a round dinner table big enough to sit ten people, “It belonged to Professor Merrythought once. I have never seen a grimmer _thought_ in anyone but Merry _thought_.” He laughed at his own joke.    

Slughorn’s office, in Audré’s opinion, was more like a museum curator’s office than a Potions Master’s one. His desk was large and elaborately decorated with an equally intricately curved high backed chair placed behind it. The lamps and their shades were imported. Audré’s mother was a potioneer and she identified in the shelves some really rare books on Potions. But it was a small table right across the small pianoforte that drew her. There were at least fifty photo frames on it, all looking very well taken off.

“Oh that’s my club members!” Slughorn came lightly sprinting by to stand beside Audré when she went to the table to examining the photos more closely, “The Slug Club.” He stated proudly. “I have almost everyone. Quidditch players, authors, singers, Potioneers, Aurors, ministry high officials, you name it, Madame. They are my old students and we maintain an excellent connection.”

“Yes, Morpheus told me about it.” Audré nodded, her eyes flying from one photo frame to the next before they fixed themselves on one. In a large ornate frame and just on the centre of the table where everyone could see it easily was the photo of two young men and a lady, not older than nineteen, all in Muggle attires and standing with Slughorn who posed pompously holding a green goblet.

“That’s Harry Potter, my crown jewel.” Slughorn declared regally, seemingly noticing Audré’s point of interest, and picked up the photo frame to bring it closer to her, “And those are his pals, Ron Weasley and...”

Audré didn’t need telling who the only woman in the photo was. She already knew her. They had met at Brussels and her son was the only grandson Audré had. But was it this woman what she had expected her to look like once?

With the exception of Hermione Granger’s brilliant brown eyes there was no similarity between Jean Granger and her. Jean had looked like a confident mother, not like a skinny teenager with sad eyes that Hermione looked like. She was staring at the photographer with a little forced smile. If Audré hadn’t come to Hogwarts looking explicitly for Hermione and hadn’t met Jean at Brussels earlier, she could never have told that the two women could be linked.

Time has changed Hermione or Jean so much!

Fleur, interested to see what Slughorn was showing Audré had come and joined their pair. “When did you take that photo?” She asked Slughorn, frowning deeply at the photo.

“In the victory celebration party after the battle.” Slughorn replied, looking very pleased with himself, “Of course with Harry it’s really hard to persuade him for a photo. My boy is such a shy fellow! His pals are all the same. Hermione, especially. Wouldn’t let anyone to take her photo!”

For Audré that explained why there were no photos of Hermione Granger in any news article in Daily Prophet. She had avoided the press on purpose. But why? 

“How did you manage them then?” Fleur asked, sounding half-curious and half-annoyed by Slughorn’s ostentatious behaviour.

“Well took them to a corner and asked the photographer to click, didn’t I?” Slughorn replied as if thrilled by his own scheming power, “They look so skinny! And Hermione? She looked so sad. I even asked her what was wrong. She said she was missing her parents. They live in Australia.” He gave Audré a knowing look.

Audré didn’t say a word. She had no words. She only gave Slughorn a small smile as he placed the photo frame back on its centre of glory position.

How the rest of the afternoon passed Audré didn’t know nor did she care. Slughorn had arranged a really nice lunch for her and Fleur. The cooking, as claimed, was superb and if the situation were different Audré would have enjoyed it immensely. Hogwarts and its teachers have honoured her beyond any possible politeness and she was thankful to them more making it a memorable trip. But somehow, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull herself out of this queer feeling that something horrific has happened and Draco was keeping it away from her on purpose.

The last possibility she held onto was that Hermione and Jean were actually twin sisters and while one lived in France with her son, the other lived in Australia with her parents. It was, however, not clear why Fleur would help one sister and wouldn’t want to talk about the other. Audré was a lawyer and law didn’t reach any conclusions without any definite proof and based only on guesswork. Until and unless Fleur confirmed that the two Grangers were actually the same person, she, Audré had no way to find out the truth.

The truth had a very peculiar pattern of revealing itself and what Audré had looked for in the pages of Daily Prophet was discovered by her in a quiet corner of Hogwarts, in Horace Slughorn’s office. Armed with it she had one last mission to complete: confront Fleur.

Biding goodbye to the kind teachers of Hogwarts, thanking them for their hospitality and after presenting Slughorn with a box of crystallized pineapples, Audré started for London at day fall. On their way out, she stopped by Hagrid’s hut, thanked him for his assistance and accepted a box of his very famous Rock Cakes that he had baked for Fleur’s little daughter. Once again Hagrid accompanied them to the wrought iron gates and when Fleur and Audré reached Hogsmeade, she no longer required to be taken to a side-along apparition to the Rosings.

The only sensible conclusion after such a successful outing could be a tea enjoyed with scones and pastries. Audré took the opportunity to invite Fleur to her suite and the pretty lady didn’t refuse her this time.

They were served finest quality English tea and scones. Fleur looked tired but otherwise happy with her trip to Hogwarts. They talked about her family for a while, how she had met her husband and got married. Audré listened and when the tea was over, stood up and walked gingerly behind her.

“Would you mind if I touch your hair, dear?” She asked her, placing both hands on Fleur’s shoulders. “Lillian’s hair just like yours and I miss touching it. She’d have been very proud of her father today. She was very young when he died.”

“Oh, I am sorry, Madame.” Fleur had stiffened at Audré’s touch first but when she mentioned her husband and daughter, she didn’t protest and offered her condolences. “My daughter and I are proud of Bill. He is a very brave man.”

“Do you have a brother-in-law or something?” Audré asked airily, starting to smooth Fleur’s silvery hair gently, “We could find an Englishman husband for my Lillian.”

“My brother-in-law?” Fleur laughed and noticing that Audré’s hands were soft and gentle, relaxed considerably, “They are either married or engaged. But my brother is still single.”

“Yes. Monsieur Undersecretary.” Audré smiled and continued massaging Fleur’s scalp. At this rate, it wouldn’t take her more than another five minutes to pass into a state of trance. “But he is French.” She supplied.

Fleur laughed again, “Ummm…do you have any problems with dragon trainers? Charlie, Bill’s younger brother, is still single, I think.” 

“Dragon trainer sounds just fine.” Audré replied playfully. For a while they talked about a possible matchmaking between Charlie and Lillian and then, as expected, Fleur yawned loudly and her head slowly dropped. She has passed into a deep restful slumber.

Slowly and gently Audré leaned Fleur’s head back and rested it against the sofa. The moment she had played all along with Fleur Delacour Weasley has finally arrived. She was about to discover the truth about Hermione Granger.

“What’s your name, dear?” She asked, tasting the depth of slumber.

“Fleur…Delacour…Weasley.” Fleur replied in a sleepy and toneless voice.

“How long have you been here?”

“Ten years. 1994 to 2004.”

“Do you know Hermione Granger?”

“I do.”

“Where is she now?”

“In France.”

Audré paused. She had been right. Jean Granger was actually Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s comrade in bringing Voldemort down.

“But that’s Jean Granger. Not Hermione.” She pressed the point.

“Jean is Hermione’s middle name.” Fleur replied automatically, “She uses it in France.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t want to be known as Hermione.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

“Why? What danger?”

Fleur didn’t reply for full minute. She seemed to be having some sort of restrain stopping from replying to Audré’s question.

That was odd, Audré thought. She has never failed in hypnotizing anyone. Fleur had no idea that she has been hypnotized under the pretence of a scalp massage. She had no conscious control over her mind now. Audré was pulling the strings and she was supposed to be the puppet. And yet, with extreme will power she was denying her the truth, the rest of the truth.

“Why is Hermione in France, Fleur?” Audré asked again, “Tell me. What’s the danger?”

“No.” Fleur shook her head, “I can’t. He’ll find them. They’ll be in danger. Great danger.”

Audré was amazed by Fleur’s determination to not reveal the truth even in this state. The woman was not just an ordinary beauty without brains type. Not for anything was she a Triwizard champion.

“What great danger?” Audré pressed again.

“He’ll kill them.”

“Who?”

“Draco Malfoy.” Fleur’s voice whipped like a lash in the air.

“Draco Malfoy! Why?”

“He’s his son. His half-blood son.”

Audré understood that the ‘he’ Fleur was referring to was actually Adrian, Draco’s only living son. But her nephew had never mentioned it to her that Adrian was a half-blood because his mother was a Muggleborn witch.

“Listen Fleur,” Audré lowered her mouth over her head and whispered urgently, “I understand that you care for Adrian and want to hide them all for good. But that’s not possible now. Draco already knows about Adrian. He’s after him. Tell me where he is and I’ll protect him. Tell me how they ended up in France.”

Fleur was still unconvinced. She shook her head again.

“No. I can’t. I won’t.” She said resolutely, “I promised Hermione. I promised she’ll be safe there.”

Audré sighed but didn’t give up on Fleur. This woman was proving to be difficult but it was not altogether impossible to break the barrier of her mind.

“Fleur, dear,” She massaged her scalp even more gently and tried to have her relaxed once again, “What you will tell me, I will not use them against Hermione or Adrian. I will use them to protect them. Trust me, Fleur. We, the French, are not traitors.” She whispered into her ear.

Fleur remained silent. “I can’t _tell_ you. I promised to Hermione.”

“ _Show_ me then.” Audré gave her a technical advice, “Give me the _memories_.”

“Take them.” Fleur did not need any further pursuing and whispered. She was in the deepest stage of hypnotism and sensing that she has finally succeeded in her mission Audré removed her wand from the pocket, placed its tip on Fleur’s temple. Seconds later a thick silvery strand was pulled away. She dropped the memories carefully into a vial before sealing it tightly.

“Are you feeling alright, Fleur?” She enquired, watching the deeply stuporous woman.

“Yes.” Fleur replied tonelessly.

“You shall sleep for another five minutes.” Audré instructed, “Then you’ll wake up and you will not remember of this. Alright?”

Fleur nodded.

“You’ll also not write to your home about me or my family.” Audré felt she needed to take this precaution to avoid any future problems.

“I won’t.” Fleur nodded again and slumped on the chair she was occupying deep in sleep.

Audré sighed. At last, at long last what she had looked for was in her hand. Her worst suspicions have been confirmed. Hermione Granger was actually Jean Granger and she and Draco has had an encounter during the war that had culminated into her becoming pregnant and leaving England under the planned and well planted bluff that she was going to Australia, to her parents. All she needed now was Draco to tell her what that encounter was.

Audré pocketed the vial and after Fleur woke up and left, started for Draco’s suite.

Tonight was the night of the truths.

•••••

All day long Draco waited patiently for his aunt to return from Hogwarts. He had booked the one room just across hers and seen through the peep-hole when Fleur came to take Audré. They had looked quite happy when leaving, as if two old friends. Fleur was still the exquisitely beautiful woman Draco remembered her to be but he couldn’t care less about her.

At midday, tired from waiting and pacing in his suite, Draco left the Rosings for Diagon Alley. He was certain that Audré would succeed in her mission. There was no way she wouldn’t. Fleur didn’t stand chance against his clever aunt. Audré would definitely make her talk and when that happened he, Draco, would be one step closer to his son. He’d need means to disguise himself and what was better than a large bottle of Polyjuice for that?

The Leaky Cauldron was pretty crowded on Tuesdays when Draco entered it after fifteen minutes. Tom wizened the bartender was serving witches and hags alike with stinky ale and mouldy breads. He gave Draco a toothless grin and he ignored it disdainfully. The name Malfoy still commanded some respect. He headed for the entrance of the Diagon Alley.

The Alley was packed with Hogwarts students who were there to purchase their school staff. September the first wasn’t very far away and not all students could afford to buy their school supplies on time. Not everyone was born a Malfoy. Draco smirked proudly.

Taking a detour route he went straight to Borgin and Burkes. The dingy shop in that stinky Knockturn Alley was still there with its substandard salesmen. It was a well known fact among those who went there regularly that Borgin and Burkes sold good quality Polyjuice Potion to their chosen customers. One of the owners, Burkes welcomed Draco graciously to his shop and enquired why he wasn’t paying them regular visits. Draco feigned he hadn’t heard the question and asked for an ample supply of Polyjuice Potion.

He came out ten minutes later and was walking back to Diagon Alley when suddenly his eyes fell on a familiar face.

Weaselbee!

Roony Weaselbee!

He was swaggering along the same alley as he, just a few meters ahead. His flaming red hair was messy and sticking out on different angles, as if it was too cool to be famous and unkempt.

Draco snorted. Unlike him and most purebloods who valued their education, Potter and his sidekick Weasley had never returned to complete their seventh year at Hogwarts. Why would they actually? They had the tag of the Golden Trio, didn’t they? Then he heard that the Golden Trio actually wished to join the ministry and the ministry too was eager to accept the first non-graduated students from Hogwarts. Then the Mudblood left and the Golden _Duo_ ended up training ballet at the Auror office, revolutionizing the Wizarding world.

Nonsense! Draco snorted again. Two barely grown adults _revolutionizing_ a thousand year old world! That must be why the ministry was going to the dogs these days, with no proper Wizarding pride.

Draco followed Weasley for a minute, like a shadow, silent and observant. The red head seemed lost in his own thoughts and was walking almost aimlessly. An idea struck him then. An immensely good idea.

He could he forget him, of all the people? Ron Weasley was his key to know what happened between the Blood traitor and the Mudblood when she discovered she was pregnant. Did she choose Adrian willingly over Weasley or was it because Weasley had ditched her knowing her condition?

Draco was curious, dead curious and curiosity, thy name was Malfoy.

Draco watched as Weasley turned a corner and started walking to the joke shop his twin brothers had established. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Their Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder was a hit, Draco still remembered it very well. He drew out his wand and casted a Disillusionment Charm over himself. He then took a good aim at Weasley’s head and casted the usual Unforgivable solemnly: The Imperius.

‘Imperio!’ He thought and the familiar sensation of control spread from his fingers. It hit its target neatly.

‘ _Turn right and leave the main alley._ ’ Draco commanded smoothly.

Weasley turned right and left the main alley, like a puppet in marionette. He did not even fight! Draco rejoiced in cruel pleasure. He had heard that Potter could fight Imperius Curse but clearly Weasley couldn’t. And they were supposed to be the Aurors who _revolutionized_ the Wizarding community! What a sick joke!

They were off the main alley now and Draco led Weasley to the deeper labyrinths of the alley. He scanned the place as he walked and soon found what he was looking for – a shed full of rusty old cauldrons.

Perfect! Draco thought and commanded Weasley to turn left and go to the second hand cauldron shed. Oh, it felt so good to be in control! It felt so good to punish one of Potter’s precious pals.

Weasley did what he was told and went to the shed. The shop keeper came out to enquire what he wanted.

‘ _Tell him to find you a size 5 pewter cauldron with second degree burn._ ’ Draco instructed Weasley who in turn conveyed it to the shop keeper, who left immediately.

Draco looked around and found that the old alley was almost deserted except for a Disillusioned himself and an Imperiused Weasley.

‘ _Now, now, Weaselbee, we meet again._ ’ He said with relish, ‘ _I knew you were a complete waste, born in a bin. But there is something even a trash like you could do for me._ ’

Weasley’s face remained unaffected. He wasn’t really hearing Draco’s insults.

‘ _I want you to give the memories of the day when Granger was caught and taken to Malfoy Manor._ ’ Draco came to stand close to Weasley. The redhead was taller and lanky as before and he had to look up. Draco hated it.  ‘ _Then, after your slow brain is done remembering all those memories, I want you to give a memory where you and that Mudblood broke up. Clear? Do it correctly, dunderhead!_ ’  He paid homage to Severus Snape who was the frequent user of that word.

Weasley screwed up his face in concentration. It meant that the very little brain he had was actually working.

Draco looked around and found a bucket full of old potion phials. He selected one and thrust it into Weasley’s hand.

‘ _When you are done Weaselbee, withdraw them and pour them in there._ ”

Weasley drew out his wand and after pressing its tip to his temple, withdrew a thick silvery strand. He obediently poured it into the phial. Draco snatched and sealed it before pocketing it.

 _‘Obliviate!’_ He muttered and watched as Weasley’s eyes unfocused and his blank features became even blanker. He left him there, staring vacantly and started for the main alley. On his way, he lifted up the Unforgivable when he heard the shop keeper bombarding the unfortunate prey with questions.

‘ _Have a nice day, Weasel king!_ ’ Draco smirked and patted on the phial in his pocket. It didn’t take him more than another fifteen minutes to return to the Rosings. On his way to his suite, he checked his aunt’s. No. Audré still wasn’t back from Hogwarts.

After setting the Polyjuice Potion and phials of memories on the nightstand, Draco took off his black coat and threw it carelessly, aiming a divan. It fell and hung from there, looking forgotten. He then climbed into his bed and lying on his chest wondered how to pass the lazy hours until his aunt returned.

Meeting Weasley and collecting those memories was definitely one of the highlights of the day. Now it would be really nice if he could now get a way, a clue to find Adrian once again.

Deep in thought Draco Summoned his notebook from the coat pocket. He was never an organized guy to note things down. That was for the stupid likes of Longbottom, who would forgot when was the last time he peed. But Adrian has made his father even do that. Draco had brought the first ever notebook of his life only to put down facts about Adrian on it. He opened the first page and read.

  1. Adrian takes British breakfast. He takes egg, jam and bread.
  2. He likes Tofu and Almond Milk. Almond is good for brain.
  3. His favourite colour is yellow.
  4. His favourite T-shirt is the one his grandpa Gustave gave him. It is red and yellow.
  5. Adrian loves story books and animals. He loves that stupid Edmound.
  6. He wants a pet, a small white rabbit. He would name it Peter.



 

Peter? Draco frowned at the common Muggle name Adrian has chosen for his future pet rabbit. _Peter_. Why Peter? Why not something more impressive? His own eagle owl was named Aquila, after Zeus’s eagle.

Draco tsk’ed in annoyance. So far there was nothing significant that he could use to get a clue on where Adrian lived in France. He could be in Paris. They had met at the Tuileries Garden. But wizards were not Muggles who’d require buses and cars to travel. They could easily apparate. In fact that bloody hawk, Eva, had apparated away with Adrian when Draco had asked her his name. The thought still had his blood boiling. Still.

Not having anything particular to do Draco turned a new page and drew a small sketch of Adrian. His little son was so handsome! His grey eyes, his nose, his curls, his smile, everything about this wonder boy were enchanting, innocent. He then wrote his name underneath the sketch.

_Adrian._

Beautiful! Draco smiled, staring down at the name. His son’s name was beautiful! And elegant! And classy! And unique! And wonderful! He even found hidden similarities between their names. Draco and Adrian both had a D, an R and an A in common. That was great! That was how it should be between a father and a son. Next, he wrote down his son’s full name.

_Adrian Thomas Granger._

Draco stared at the name, greatly annoyed now. That Thomas was actually the Mudblood Granger’s father. He was a Muggle and his name was a nasty common one, like a filthy worm in a flower and Draco definitely didn’t like it.

Draco frowned at the name for another moment. Then he wrote down the name again, but slightly differently this time.

_Adrian ~~Thomas~~ Draco ~~Granger~~ Malfoy_

Adrian _Draco_ Malfoy. Yeah that was better. That was loads better. A boy was ought to have his father’s name as his middle name, not a Muggle grandfather’s. Draco’s middle name was his father’s, Lucius. Draco _Lucius_ Malfoy. And Lucius’s was his father’s. Abraxas. Lucius _Abraxas_ Malfoy. And that surname? Granger? How dare that Mudblood used her maiden name for Adrian? Adrian was a Malfoy through and through; his looks, his drawing skills, his love to play with water, his ability to solve puzzles, everything, everything about him was Malfoy. He couldn’t be allowed to use that nasty Muggle name, Granger.

So engrossed was Draco in his thoughts and schemes on Adrian’s name that when the door opened and someone walked in, he didn’t notice it. He noticed it later, when a soft hand was placed on his shoulder.

“Wha…” he sat bolt upright and was about to curse the person when Audré’s solemn features came into view.

“Aunt!” Draco cried, slightly startled, “When did you come? How was it? Did she tell you where they are? Of course she did! Where is Adrian? Where do they live?”

In one long breath Draco let out all those questions that were spinning in his head.

Audré, however, didn’t seem remotely affected by his long tirade of questions. She didn’t endeavour to reply and continued watching him, silently. Draco frowned. Why was she staring at him like that?

“Er… what’s wrong aunt?” He asked cautiously, sitting properly now. There was something in those blue eyes that he couldn’t fathom but didn’t feel very good about it either.

Still silent, Audré reached and picked up Draco’s notebook, the one had been scribbling on before she came in, from the bed.

“Are you planning to change Adrian’s name?” She asked quietly, her eyes scanning the contents of the notebook.

“What…” Draco sputtered, not getting head or tail of Audré’s mysterious behaviour, “Aunt, that my notebook and I’ll have it back. Thank you.” He remembered her remark on his mother Narcissa on not teaching him proper manners when he had touched her letters and reached out for his notebook. But before his fingers could touch it, Audré closed and threw it on the bed, neglectfully.

“Come nephew,” She stalked off to the sitting room, “We have to talk.”

Talk! Draco rolled his eyes. Well that’s what he had been trying to do all along and it was she who hadn’t complied. He stowed the notebook into his trouser pocket and left the bed, feeling he’d have to put up with Audré’s eccentric manners for a while to have what he wanted coerced from her. He came out on the sitting room. Audré has already settled down, her one leg elegantly crossed over the other.

Draco sat before her, silent and expectant. There was something about Audré’s strange silence that he didn’t feel right about. Has she failed? Did Fleur refuse to tell her where Adrian was and how he ended up there? But that was impossible. His aunt never failed in her mission.

Then was she afraid that he’d overreact if she told him that Adrian could never be found? That that Mudblood has somehow sensed that Celia was actually a scapegoat and disappeared with Adrian? Forever. But that was double impossible! Draco would never let that happen. Ever. Adrian was his son. _His_ son. That Mudblood has simply brought him to this world and for whom? For him, for Draco Malfoy.

“Aunt did you…” He started but couldn’t finish. Audré held up a solemn hand.

“Naming a magical child is something not to be taken very _lightly_ , Draco.” She said, her face expressionless, “Name is the most important feature of a person. It’s his or her identity, something that he or she carries from cradle to grave. Take Lord Voldemort, for instance. He wasn’t born with that name, was he? He fashioned it to become a Dark Lord. He was feared so much for that name that people still don’t name him in public. What do you learn from that?”

Draco blinked, perplexed. Here he was wondering about Adrian and there Audré was lecturing him on names? What was wrong with her?

“You don’t know?” Audré asked, deciphering Draco’s confusion well, “Thought as much.” She joined her fingers and placed her chin on it, looking not so keen to let go of the topic, “A good name for a child infuses him or her with good qualities. Take my name. Audré. It means ‘noble strength’. Well, I am not sure how much _noble_ I am; your dear father would be glad to shed light on that. But it’s clear even to you, his son, that I have some _strength_.”

Draco agreed privately but didn’t comment. He let her continue, feeling that whatever it was, it was better out than in.

“A child’s magical aura also gets connected to his or her name.” Audré was continuing, nonchalantly, “And once named, a wizard or witch cannot be renamed without changing their magical auras. A good aura, when changed, in all cases will turn to become a bad one. It’s something that you or anyone can’t rule over. It’s a very natural phenomenon. So, in a nutshell, if you change Adrian’s name or _any_ part of it, he’ll have a good chance to end up like the _Dark Lord_.”

Draco finally understood. Audré did not like the idea that Adrian’s name would be changed. But did she not see that he was not trying to change his given name? Adrian, as a name, was as beautiful as the beholder of the name himself. He was just trying to get rid of the Muggle parts, that Thomas and Granger.

“So basically you are telling me that Adrian’s _father’s_ name will bring him misfortune?” Draco asked coolly, “You are suggesting that a Malfoy should bear the name of a common _Muggle_?”

“I am not _suggesting_ that Draco, I am merely _stating_ the facts.” Audré replied, extremely calm, “If you don’t believe me, you can look it up in any good book on Magical Aura. There is only one time when a person’s aura changes for good: when a witch becomes pregnant. At that time the two Auras, the mother’s and the baby’s, merge together and her aura brightens. Other than that, every other instance to change a name or an aura has always ended badly. Besides,” she arched an eyebrow, “what’s with the name Draco? Thomas or not, Adrian was, is and will be your son, wouldn’t he?”

Draco digested the piece of information sourly. His aunt has never turned out to be wrong on any matter. She couldn’t be wrong now. Everyone knows about Lord Voldemort’s name. Would a father want his only son to end up as a squib or worse, as a dark lord?

Draco huffed. Thanks to that filthy Mudblood he couldn’t even change his only son’s name now.

“Aunt did you get what I asked you?” He decided to research on the matter before reaching any conclusion. Aura or not, one thing was for sure. Adrian was going to have his father’s surname even if it required him to add it with the Granger. That would be a disgrace to the Malfoy surname, of course, but it was better than not having any part of his name attached to Adrian’s.

Audré became silent again. She was staring at him, her gaze a soul searching one now. All this suspense was becoming unbearable to Draco. What was she playing at?

“Aunt, can you please tell me what’s wrong?” Draco demanded, the last restraints of his patience lost, “I am not a portrait that you’d stare at me like that.”

“I know, nephew.” Audré shuffled her legs and placed the left over the right, “Let’s go to Malfoy Manor.”

“Malfoy Manor?” Draco blinked quizzically. What happened so suddenly that after her Hogwarts tour, Audré was asking him to take her to Malfoy Manor?

“Yes, Malfoy Manor.” Audré replied plainly, “My husband’s _home_.”

Draco eyed Audré with suspicion. Something was definitely wrong with her. Has she lost her marbles in Hogwarts? Did the teachers tell her anything about him? How he had tried to kill Dumbledore?

“Care to explain what’s going on here?” He asked, not moving a muscle.

Audré reached inside her robes and extracted a phial. It was full of silvery white substance. She placed it on the table between them.

“Your answers, nephew.” She said idly, tilting her head sideways and fixing her piercing blue gaze on him, “I am afraid you’ll need a Pensieve.”

“Memories!” All the previous conversation and doubts forgotten, Draco snatched the phial and stared at it in disbelief. Now he understood. Audré knew that he’d need a Pensieve to see what she had procured from Fleur and has, therefore, asked them to go to the Manor. They didn’t have a Pensieve here, in the hotel.

“You are brilliant, aunt, you are damn _brilliant_!” He cried, wrapping his fingers tightly on the phial, “Father had a Pensieve. He had almost everything he wanted! He never used it, of course. It’s mine now. It’s _mine_!” He told more to the phial than to the thought of the Pensieve, “Let’s go aunt.” He leapt to his feet and ran for the bedroom door. He was going to pack up and clear off from this hotel as soon as he could. There was so much to do!

“You remember my conditions don’t you, Draco?” came Audré’s question from back. Draco stopped on mid track and turned to her.

“I didn’t ask you anything about anything, aunt.” He reminded her.

“Not that one.” Audré stood up, clearly planning to leave the hotel, “The other one. The one about telling me the truth when time comes.”

Draco gulped, his throat suddenly dry. Has Audré sensed something? Was it Fleur who did that damage? But she has given Audré only some memories and she couldn’t have seen them without a Pensieve? And they were going to the manor exactly for that purpose.

“Yeah.” He nodded as confidently as he could. If he had to tell her the truth in the end, he’d also explain to her that it was not his fault. That Mudblood attacked his mother and brought that fate upon herself. He was not to be blamed for it. Ever.

“Fine.” Audré smiled for the first time since coming in, “You can stay at the manor, if you like. I’ll return here.” She said and left.

Draco stood stoically on the sitting room for a minute before his senses crept back. There was no point fearing what still hasn’t happened. What would come, would come. He would face it then. Right now he needed to see all the memories, the ones he had collected and the one Audré did, as soon as he could.

There was a gulf of difference between half past seven in the evening in London and in Wiltshire. In London it was noisy and loud. But in Wiltshire, when Draco walked past the wrought iron gates of Malfoy Manor with Audré on tow, the night was stiller than a mirror. It was new moon and the sky was dark, having no moon to shine alongside the stars. The silence was occasionally being pierced by a peacock cry or two. Other than that it was all very quiet.

On their little journey back to manor none had talked much. Audré was silent. Draco was silent too, thinking about all the memories he’d be watching soon. For a while, they walked side by side and soon came to a clearing where played a fountain before the handsome manor. A narrow path led off to the left. It went straight through another gate into the endless darkness beyond.

“That must be the family graveyard.” Audré commented, suddenly stopping before the gate.

Draco didn’t need to confirm her; so he said nothing.

“You go, nephew. I need to visit a grave.” Audré turned to him and bade solemnly.

“Grave?” Draco repeated gravely, “Now?”

Audré smiled, “Are you fearing ghosts, nephew?”

“Ghosts?” Draco didn’t know why she would say that, “We had the Bloody Baron as the Resident Slytherin House Ghost.”

“Not _that_ ghost, Draco.” Audré shook her head, looking amused, “The ghost of the _past_. Do you fear that?”

Draco considered the question for a while before deciding to not get carried by Audré and her enigmatic game of words. He had more important works to do and had no place for a ghost, be it real or the past, in his life. 

“Aunt if you want to visit a grave, be my guest.” He gestured at the gate which swung open for them, “Excuse me for now. I have memories to watch.”

“Have a nice time, nephew.” Audré smirked confidently before disappearing into the darkness of Malfoy family graveyard. Draco watched her for a second before returning to the manor.

Like most of Lucius Malfoy’s old collections, his Pensieve too resided in the Malfoy family library, the one Draco used to sneak into when he was young. He was an adult now, the lord of this manor and all its properties and therefore, didn’t need to sneak into the library anymore.

Slow and steady he entered the place. It was very quiet here, with nothing but the statues and portraits to give him company. He walked straight to the back of the spacious library, where his father’s collection was well hidden. He brought out the Pensieve and placed it carefully on a table. He then extricated the two phials.

Draco sat and eyed the phials. One had Weasley’s memories and one had Fleur’s. He was all for seeing Fleur’s first; that one was more valuable. But he needed to know what had happened between the Mudblood and the Blood traitor. That was where the story must have started.

Draco reached for the phial that contained Weasley’s memories and emptied its contents into the Pensieve. It swirled there, neither liquid nor gas. Some long lost questions would be answered tonight and feeling curious, Draco plunged his head into the silvery depths of the memories.

He landed on what looked like the inside of a tent. He had been inside magical tents and the ones Malfoys had were almost like the manor house they resided in: grand and equipped with all the important amenities of life. But this?

Draco stifled a bout of nausea. They called this a place to live? Merlin! Even a pigsty was better than this! It was just a small flat complete with a bathroom and kitchen. There were no separate bedrooms, no study, no private garden, no balconies, no cigar room and no dressing room. The place was strangely bare. The only furniture was an old table, three armchairs and four bunk beds.

“I’ve got it. I’ve got it!” Draco whipped around at the sound of a familiar voice, “Password was ‘Albus’! Get in here, Harry!”

Weasley! How could he miss that flea-bitten redhead?

That flea bitten redhead was currently kneeling beside a radio, holding it close to his right ear and listening as if his life depended on it. Draco snorted. So that meant that Weasley was not suffering from Spattergroits as it was claimed by his liar parents! He was with Potter and this was where they used to live when they were in a run. This dirty little tent that smelt horribly of cats! Draco wrinkled his nose. He hated cats and their smell. Couldn’t _precious_ Potter get himself a better place to live when running from the Dark Lord? He was Potter, the Chosen One. What happened to his universal fame then? Couldn’t manage anything better than this shit hole, right?

Draco smirked at contentment. There were things in this world that even Potter couldn’t get and luxury and fine taste was one of them. That came with the name of the Malfoys. 

That reminded him, where was Granger? This memory was supposed to be of the day she was taken to Malfoy Manor. What was Weasley doing inside a shit hole tent? Digging for some treasure?

His thought was soon voiced by his most detested person. Harry Potter. He must be somewhere outside the tent, because he came walking in, carrying what looked like a plateful of mushrooms. He found Weasley kneeling beside a little radio and frowned.

“Where do you think Hermione went?” He asked, settling beside him, “She took my Invisibility Cloak this morning.”

“Dunno,” Weasley shook his head absent mindedly. He was too absorbed in his radio to pay attention anywhere else and silently motioned Potter to listen. He placed the small radio on the table and turned up the volume.

“Evening, River.” A voice came in through the speaker.

“River, that’s Lee. They’ve all got code names, but you can usually tell.” Weasley explained, recognizing the male voice. Draco recognized it too. Lee Jordan! That bloody Gryffindor had always commentated on the matches against the Slytherins.

He watched in disgust as Potter and his pal listened to a station called ‘Potterwatch’. Who would say no a radio station based on his name? Potter was definitely having the time of his life, listening and feeling proud that the Wizarding world was worshipping their hero. But this was not what Draco has come here for. This memory was supposed to show him how Granger was caught and so far, there was no sign of her. What was going on? Did Weasley give him a wrong memory?

Potter and Weasley were listening excitedly as the radio program unraveled news regarding the Dark Lord, Death Eaters and mysterious deaths of Muggles. Their ears were glued to the tiny radio.

Draco was beginning to lose patience. He already knew all that was being said in the radio. The Dark Lord was staying at his home during the war. He was wondering if he was wasting time in this memory and should get out when suddenly Potter exclaimed.

“Did you hear what Fred said?” He asked Weasley, his eyes wide, “He’s abroad! He’s looking for the wand! I knew it!”

“Harry--” Weasley started but Potter cut in.

“Why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol--” Potter snapped.

“HARRY, NO!” Weasley warned Potter but it was too late.

“---demort’s after the Elder wand!” He finished, looking breathless.

That. Bloody. Fool! Draco gritted his teeth. The Dark Lord’s name was a taboo! It was cursed! The idea had been Bellatrix’s and Draco was there when the curse was placed to track down everyone who dared to speak the Dark Lord’s name. But Potter certainly didn’t care. He was Potter after all, the dickhead of all dickheads.

His thoughts were echoed by Weasley who jumped to his feet and almost dragged Potter out of the tent as a Sneakoscope lit up on the table and begun to spin.

“That name is a _taboo_!’ Weasley bellowed, “I told you, Harry, I told you not to use it. We can’t stay here anymore--” he dragged Potter out and casted a Disillusionment Charm on both of them.

Draco could feel that the wards around Potter’s tent had broken as rough and excited voices neared the place.

“Come out of there with your hands up!” Came a horribly rasping voice, “We know you are there! You’ve got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don’t care who we curse!”

Draco recognized the speaker immediately. Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf. Greyback’s voice always sent a chill down his spine. For split second he forgot that it was a memory and he couldn’t be harmed.

The Disillusioned Potter and Weasley, wherever they were, made no sound.

Draco watched as the group of Snatchers as they approached the empty tent and entered. Then there was another sound - an audible crack as a witch apparated in the middle of the horrible mess, unaware.

“Granger!” Draco whispered, not knowing why he was suddenly fearful.

The witch looked around and dropped the bag she was carrying. She reached for her wand and called, “Harry?”

Draco almost closed his eyes as six flashes of red jet hit her and she crumpled on the forest, unconscious. Greyback and his companions came out from the tent and surrounded her unconscious form.

“Herm…” Weasley’s cry was roughly stifled. It came from somewhere to Draco’s right.

“Sshhh…” Potter must have clamped Weasley’s mouth shut, “I bet Greyback can smell us!” By the sounds of it, he was standing directly before Draco.

For a while there was no sound but faint panting.

“Let’s check the odds!” Draco heard Potter whisper cautiously, as if formulating a battle plan, “On the upside, we are invisible. We can take cover and attack. On the downside, they are six and we are two. We have got only one wand. Yours! Mine is broken. I can’t fight with that Blackthorn one with Greyback.”

But before they could do anything, the group of Snatchers burnt the tent down, hoisted their captive and left the scene. Draco followed them. Greyback and his gang were talking among themselves.

“Where are they going?” Potter tsk’ed, following the Snatcher’s trail closely, “The Ministry?”

“Dunno!” Weasley whispered back. As if to confuse him more, the group suddenly disapparated.

“Bloody hell!” Weasley bellowed, not troubling to keep his voice down anymore, “Where did they go?”

“I heard something like Malfoy Manor.” Potter replied, breathlessly.

“Malfoy Manor?” Weasley’s voice was bewildered, “You mean they took Hermione to Malfoy’s place? Why?”

“We have got to go there.” Potter said with a tone of desperation, “Before something happens to Hermione!”

“But we don’t know where it is!” Weasley seemed scandalized.

“There is someone who can.” Potter suddenly said, as though struck by a sudden idea, “Dobby!” He called loudly.

Of course, Draco thought. Dobby. It was that elf who had taken Granger from his Manor that night.

He has lost interest in this memory now. He knew what had happened later. The elf had sneaked Potter and Weasley into their cellar where Granger, Lovegood, Ollivander and a goblin were held captive. The protective enchantments around the Manor had delayed their arrival but Bellatrix had foreseen it and assigned Pettigrew to guard the cellar in case they arrived.

Eventually she was informed that Potter and Weasley had come to rescue their friend, as predicted, but his aunt had failed miserably to capture them to present them to the Dark Lord. She was ruthlessly punished and imprisoned, her wand already lost during the skirmish had that followed. Pettigrew, too, had died and Potter had escaped again, taking away Draco’s wand.

Draco lifted his face from the Pensieve and looked up at the painted ceiling. So that was how Granger had ended up at the manor? She was defenseless when she was brought here by Greyback and his gang of Snatchers.

Draco looked down at the silvery depths of the Pensieve again. Granger could be defenseless but why was that troubling him? He felt no remorse for had happened later. He had no fault. Being defenseless didn’t give Granger any legit excuse to attack his mother. She deserved to be punished and punished well.

Decided about that, Draco plunged into the memories once again. His feet left the library and he fell down…down…down…

When the scene appeared next, he was standing on a cliff overlooking the sea where a lone cottage stood, its whitewashed walls embedded with shells. On the left side of the main door, an ornate writing declared the name of the abode: Shell Cottage.

Shell Cottage? Draco read the name, wondering where the place was. An enormous sea stretched before him like a grey mirror, reaching the horizon. He could feel the salty, cold wind touching his face. For a moment, he lost himself at the constant sound of ebb and flow. It was something that never changed with time. It was eternal; that sound. The place was beautiful but hauntingly lonely, like a little isolated piece of heaven.

“Ron!” Someone gasped and slightly startled, Draco whipped around. Two people were sitting in a small garden adjacent to the cottage. He had missed them until now, having lost himself in the sea sounds. But now he could see them both. Clearly. One was Granger. She was sitting on a garden bench. Her features were of pure shock. She was staring at the man who knelt before her. Weasley. He was offering her a ring.

“Hermione, will you marry me?”

Was Weasley proposing Granger? Draco moved closer. The ring, he saw as it dazzled in the sun, bore a…

_Diamond!_

Draco stared, not at the ring but at the man who was offering it to the Mudblood. How on earth did Weasley manage a diamond? He was not a Malfoy.

His thoughts were interrupted when Granger recovered from her shock and shook her head, “Ron, no! Please!” she cried and looking away, “Please don’t! Please!”

Draco didn’t know why but he felt that he has heard those cries before. Didn’t she plead to him using the same ‘please’, ‘don’t’ and ‘no’ when he was trying to overpower her? 

“Don’t _what_?” Weasley looked bewildered by the unusual turn of events. By the looks of it, he had been expecting Granger to accept the ring immediately.

“Please don’t make it difficult!” Granger hid her face in hands and cried, “It’s already too complicated.”

“Difficult? Complicated?” Weasley looked around wildly, clueless, “Hermione I am proposing to you. I am asking you to _marry_ me.”

His explanation didn’t seem to make any difference. Granger continued shaking her head, her face still buried in her hands, “I can’t marry you.”

“ _Can’t marry me_?” Weasley uttered every word, looking positively scandalized, “Why?”

“Because I can’t. Okay?” Granger revealed her face, left her seat and turned her back on Weasley, looking aghast and pained, “Please, leave me alone.”

“Leave…you…what?” Weasley threw aside the ring and standing up, made Granger to turn and face him, “What’s wrong, Hermione? Why are you acting so weird?”

“Weird?” Granger paled, “I am not acting weird. Why should I act weird?” She looked downright terrified at the idea.

“But you are!” Weasley grabbed Granger’s shoulders and shook her slightly, as if doing so would prove his point, “I am noticing that since we rescued you from the Malfoy’s. You are not the old Hermione any more. You almost jump when I touch you. What’s wrong baby?”

“Don’t call me baby!” Granger jumped back two steps, as if electrified, “Never call me _baby_!”

“Okay, okay, I won’t!” Weasley held up his hand in defense, “I won’t call you baby. Happy now?”

“Ron.” Granger shoved back her flyaway curls and exhaled, as if unable to take it anymore, “Please, leave.”

“Leave? I don’t think so.” Weasley stood on his ground, and declared boldly, his shock receding and being replaced with anger, “Not until I hear what’s wrong with you. Not until you tell me why you reject me, my ring. It’s him, isn’t he?”

“Who?” Granger’s eyes were wide with horror and apprehension.

“Krum.” Weasley declared flatly, “He proposed to you!”

“Kk…rrum?” Granger looked somewhat relieved but flared up immediately, “Ron, why do you always have to use _me_ when it’s your turn to chicken out? First Harry and now Krum.”

“I didn’t chicken out!” Weasley retorted, “ _You_ turned me down.”

“Is that a crime? Turning you down?” Granger faced Weasley, her eyes blazing like fire, “Am I to accept you every time you come back? No, Ron. No.” She lifted her chin, regaining some of her strength, “I am Hermione Granger. I don’t need Krum or Harry or you. I can make my own decisions. Thank you.”

“It’s not that! It’s _not_ that!” Weasley looked unable to accept the decision, “You are up to something. What’s it?” he shook her shoulders roughly, “What’s it? Tell me!”

Granger shook Weasley’s hands off and before he could move a muscle, whipped out her wand, pointing it directly to his face, “Never. Manhandle. Me.” She warned him in a deadly whisper, “I am not your sex toy.” There was a fire in her eyes that even Draco thought better to not set her up. Weasley, however, looked stunned.

“So this is it?” He asked breathlessly.

Granger withdrew her wand and clenched teeth, “I guess it is.”

“Fine.” Weasley bent down, picked up the ring from the sand and straightened, “I’ll leave you with your dirty little pleasures, Hermione Granger.” He ogled and spat, “But for the sake of all those days that we remained _friends_ , for the sake of that _kiss_ you gave me, do me this one last favour and _tell_ me why you dismissed me like this, so indecently.” 

Granger crossed her arms and drew herself to her fullest height.

“The idea came to me when I saw Fleur, being stuck here as a plain housewife. She was a Triwizard Champion. And now? She cooks, cleans, looks after her house and keeps her husband happy. Same as Mrs. Weasley, you mother, does.” She said with a haunted look on her face, “I am afraid, Ron, but that is not how I see myself in future, cooking, cleaning, having eight or ten redhead babies and keeping you _happy_.”

“Keeping _me_ happy?” Weasley snorted loudly, as if greatly amused, “My happiness hardly matters to you! So what’s next great plan? To become the next Morgana or Circe?” He sneered.

Granger did not retort to the jibe this time, “No. I plan to move to Australia. To live with my parents. They are my _parents,_ Ron and I have rights to live with them. I am their only child. I plan to marry no one and never become a mother.”

Draco frowned at her statement on motherhood. Why would she say so when she was about to become one?

“So, that’s your final answer?” Weasley asked, stone faced.

Granger sighed but didn’t waver, “Yes.” She affirmed calmly, “I hope that you will move forward without me and never regret it.”

Weasley’s face hardened, “But I hope that you _regret_ it, Hermione Granger.” He took a step towards her and chewed every word venomously.

His cruel words were still reverberating in the air when the scene ended. Draco pulled himself up from the Pensieve.

It was strange but somehow he felt troubled by the fact that Hermione Granger turned Ronald Weasley down to have a Malfoy baby. He was sure now. She must have done it because she had discovered that she was pregnant. She was carrying his future son, his Adrian.

That reminded him he still had another and most important memory to see. Fleur Delacour’s.

Deep in thought, Draco emptied the contents of the vial into the Pensieve. Like the last time, they swirled there, neither gas nor liquid. He looked at for a while, wondering what more he would discover and taking a deep breath, plunged into the silvery depths.

Unlike the last two times, when it was outdoors, this time he landed directly in a room. It was spacious, with pastel coloured walls, open shelves and wood planked floor. Shining copper pots and kettles were hanging from the walls. A stove gleamed in a corner, spotlessly clean. It was a kitchen.  

Sounds of waves reached his ears. Draco looked out through the open windows. The shores of the same sea he had seen earlier in Weasley’s memory came into view. That meant he was inside Shell Cottage now and this must be the kitchen.

Someone was crying. Her sobs were echoing around the room. Frowning, Draco looked for the source. At a wide and spacious dining table made of chestnut boards, sat a woman. Her head rested on the table, buried in hands and her brown curls cascaded down the side of face, almost obscuring it from the view. A relentless sound of sobbing was coming from there.

Granger. She was wearing the same blue shirt and black skirts that he had seen her earlier with Weasley. That must be the memory of the same day, Draco deduced. What was she doing here, crying? And where was Weasley? Did he leave her after that row?

A woman entered the kitchen through the back door. Draco recognized her immediately. Fleur Delacour. She looked younger, the memory being six years old now. So shell cottage was _her_ home!

“Look what I made for you?” She set a mug full of foamy white liquid before Granger and said brightly, “Yogurt drink. Maman says it’s good for baby.”

Granger didn’t look up. She only cried harder.

Women! Draco shook his head, annoyed. What was the point of crying over a man who hardly cared for her? Granger should concentrate more on the baby, his son. By the look of this slight pregnant woman, it was clear that she was not paying attention to her health and his son was in dire need of nourishment.

“What’s it, ’ermione?” Delacour settled beside the crying woman and asked gently, “You don’t like yogurt? Should I make something else? Orange juice? Pumpkin juice?” She offered kindly, “I noticed that you drank that a lot in Hogwarts.”

Whether it was the name of that school, Hogwarts, or something else, Draco didn’t know but Granger looked up this time. Her eyes were bloodshot.

“No…it’s fine…” She hiccupped and pulled the mug towards her, “I don’t…mind yogurt. Actually, nowadays…I don’t mind…anything at all.” She placed her right hand over the stomach and sighed.

Draco’s eyes moved to Granger’s hand. There was no baby bump there but he knew that she must be referring to his baby, his tiny son that was growing inside her. The idea made his heart bloom. Adrian! _His_ son! His _only_ living bloodline!

He was happy to see that Granger drank the yogurt drink without any further protests. She was still crying but silently, tears were rolling down her cheek and she didn’t care to wipe them. She continued drinking, sniffing once or twice. Delacour watched Granger but didn’t interrupt until she was done with the drink.

“You liked it?” She asked with a charming smile.

“Yeah, it was good.” Granger replied dryly.

“Would you like some more?” Delacour reached for the empty mug.

Granger shook her head.

“What would you like for lunch?” Delacour enquired, trying to lift Granger’s mood, “I can cook quite well now. Bill says my shepherd’s pie is better than his mother’s.”

“That’s great.” Granger tried to smile but failed miserably, “Thank you, Fleur, but I don’t have any appetite. I just want to…sleep.” She sniffed, “Sleep and forget everything.”

“’ermione.” Delacour placed a gentle hand on Granger’s right shoulder, “Listen, I understand what you are going through but I don’t think you had to do that. I know Ron. He would have accepted you and the baby if you told him the truth. He would never ask you to abort it.”

“I’d never abort it even if he asked me to.” Granger sniffed again and said firmly, “As for Ron, it needed to be done, Fleur. I have thought about it. I can’t stay here. I have to go. I have to leave England. This baby can’t be born here.”

“Who says this baby can’t be born here?” Delacour asked calmly, “You don’t want to involve Ron in this? Fine. But that doesn’t mean that you have to leave England! We can have a Fideliused hut arranged just for you and the baby. Bill could be the Secret Keeper and you’ll be safe.”

“Yeah, we could do that.” Granger nodded indifferently, “Don’t think I didn’t consider that. I did. But you are forgetting one thing Fleur, it’s a baby, not a box or toy or an object that I can hide at my ease. It’s a human baby and they grow up. They grow up and they inherit traits from their parents. What if…what if…”

“If _that_ happened, Bill and I can have the baby raised as ours.” Fleur suggested, deciphering the meaning well, “Maybe you didn’t notice but I am kind of blonde too.” She indicated at her flowing long, silvery hair. “You don’t have to be involved in this.”

“But I am involved in this, Fleur! It’s _my_ baby!” Granger cried, looking astonished at the suggestion, “Besides, you think people are going to be fooled by that claim? People like Rita Skeeter, they are going to sit hands on hands and believe that a child who looks like a Malfoy is actually a Delacour? A Veela descendant?”

“But ’ermione, nothing is certain.” Delacour supplied reasonably, “The baby can have your looks too.”

“Yes, that can happen. But how I am going to explain that to Ron then?” Granger countered, “He already thinks I am marrying Krum. No.” She shook her head, “I told you Fleur, I have given it a good thought. I have been doing that since I found out that I am…” she paused and bit her lips, “And you said nothing is certain. Wrong! Damn Wrong! You are forgetting it’s the Malfoys we are dealing here and there is nothing they can’t do, that’s _certain_. Look at me. I am the living proof. Sooner or later they are going to find out about a half-blood Malfoy. That’s the last thing they’ll ever want. And what do you think they will do then? Let’s see. They can have Bill kidnapped and tortured, because he is the Secret Keeper. They can have _you_ kidnapped and tortured, because you are his wife. In the end, they’ll have us both killed, if not me, then my child. And if by some _miraculous_ means my child survives, a Malfoy bastard is the title it will receive. No, Fleur, no. I am not putting anyone in danger. I am leaving. That’s safe for all of us, you, Bill, me and my baby.”

Draco was reminded of what the imaginary Lucius had termed Adrian as, a bastard and a rape child.

Delacour eyed Granger sadly, but didn’t protest anymore. “But why Australia ’ermione?” She asked after a while, “That’s a long way from here. You can go somewhere close to England.”

“Close to England?” Granger repeated, “But my parents are in Australia.”

Delacour took Granger’s hands in hers and made her face her, “Tell me, ’ermione,” she started kindly, “if you have to choose between your baby and your parents, whom will you choose?”

“Between my baby and my parents?” Granger blinked, perplexed.

“Yes, between your baby and your parents.” Delacour affirmed.

Draco didn’t know why he was holding his breath. Suddenly, knowing that answer seemed very important to him.

“My baby.” Granger replied simply.

“Why?” Delacour asked.

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Granger looked greatly annoyed.

“Why?” Delacour probed, nonchalant.

“Because it’s my baby, Fleur!” Granger cried, her hold on her stomach firming, “Because it’s _my_ baby. I cannot leave it! I _will_ not leave it!”

“See, that’s what I wanted to hear from your lips.” Delacour said plainly, “You’ll leave your country ’ermione, but you can’t leave your baby. That’s the first sign of motherhood, self sacrifice. Now take your mother, Mrs. Granger. What do you think she will feel when she learns that her only daughter was tortured and now carries a baby? Should she feel good? Happy? Will she pat your on back and say, ‘go on, have the baby and have your life destroyed.’?” 

“But they have always understood me.” Granger looked troubled.

“Understanding and supporting are two very different things, ‘ermione.” Delacour said patiently, “It’s not necessary that if one happened, the other should happen too. And in this case it’s bound to be the opposite. _You_ are their child, ’ermione. Your baby, since it’s unexpected and unwanted, is none of their concern. They’ll ask you to get rid of it. If you didn’t, they will blame the baby for your misfortune because you left your country, the man you loved, your friends and family, everything for it.”

“What is your suggestion then?” Granger whispered, as if terrified to talk loudly.

Delacour took a deep breath, “Spare them the horror, ’ermione. You have come this far without them, didn’t you? Surely you can go forward.”

Granger clapped over her mouth, silent tears starting to pour again, “Where should I go then? I don’t have any special relatives outside Britain.”

Delacour took Granger’s chin in one hand and wiped her tears with the other, “Go to France, to my family.”

“France?” Granger repeated, “To _your_ family.”

“Yes, to _my_ family. The Delacours.” Delacour nodded firmly, “Don’t think I am telling this out of pity or sudden impulse. No. Bill and I have been thinking about it ever since you said you wanted to go to Australia. In many ways, France is a more convenient option. Firstly, we have Beauxbatons there. With all this war here, Beauxbatons is the number one Wizarding school in Europe now. You can enroll there and finish your education. I’ll write to Madame Maxime. You are a good student ’ermione. She will not have a problem in accepting you.”

“And second?” Granger was frowning deeply.

“My maman.” Delacour smiled, “She is a certified midwife. If anyone can understand your situation and value the life you are carrying inside, it’s her. You already met her at my wedding. And third, you can be close to us and to your country. Isn’t that better than being in Australia, alone and uncertain?”

Granger didn’t reply immediately. Her eyes were unfocused, seemingly pondering over something, “France!” She whispered, “Why didn’t I think about it?”

“Pardon?” Delacour enquired, listening closely.

Granger sighed and rubbed her bloodshot eyes wearily, “What about the teachers of Beauxbatons? Can they have any problem that I am pregnant out of wedlock?”

“ ’ermione, you worry too much!” Delacour shook her head, “Who cares what they think? You are of age and have right to carry out any relationship you like. I’ll have Madame Maxime manage everything. Besides, you are a brilliant student. The best in Hogwarts. I am sure you’ll win the teachers’ hearts too. Like I did.” She assured and when Granger still looked confused, she patted on her shoulder, “ ’ermione, don’t take me wrong. I am not asking you to give up your parents. No. But right now you have got more important issues to take care. This baby…” she glanced once at Granger’s flat stomach, “…your education. But don’t think that life will always be like this. You are a brave woman. You will survive. You will win. You can go to them when you have the baby and life is a more stable. I am sure when they’ll see that you are happy and successful, they’ll accept you and their grandchild. Trust me, ’ermione, you’ll not regret it.”

Granger sighed, seemingly making up her mind, “What will I tell Harry and everybody?”

“The same you told Ron.” Delacour shrugged, “You are moving to Australia, to your parents. You can keep your faith on Bill and me. We’ll never tell anybody. I promise.” She took Granger’s hand and squeezed them, smiling. “Go ’ermione! Start a new life.”

The scene dissolved. Draco waited for a while, wanting to see and hear more. But when nothing followed after five minutes, he left the Pensieve and came up.

The silence in the Malfoy Manor was strangely eerie. There was no one, he was all alone in the library but what he had heard down in that Pensieve was still ringing in his head, making it sound like ghostly whispers. Ghosts of the past! His aunt had said that. Yes, these memories could be called ghosts of the past. 

Draco sat in silence, wondering how much of what Granger had claimed about the Malfoys were right. Yes, there has never been a half-blood Malfoy. The Malfoys were always purebloods. Their family motto, ‘Sanctimonia Vincet Semper’ appeared inscribed on the silver ring that he, the Malfoy heir, always wore in his right hand. It meant ‘Purity Will Always Conquer’. Adrian was the first non-pureblood Malfoy in a thousand years, since the inception of the family. But did that mean that they would have him killed? Draco rubbed his forehead warily. Pureblood or not, Adrian was the last heir, the last hope he had. How could he have him killed?

“I see that the ghosts are haunting you.”

A woman spoke and Draco almost jumped out of his seat. For a split second he thought Fleur Delacour has come out of the Pensieve. But moments later, another woman appeared out of thin air.

“Care for some exorcism, nephew?” Audré asked, taking off a very well cast Disillusionment Charm from upon her.

“Aunt! Bloody Merlin!” Draco exhaled and slumped back on the seat, his heart racing like a steam engine, “Why are you Disillusioned?

“To enjoy a quiet little walk down the memory lane.” Audré replied with a mysterious smirk, “Your esteemed ancestors don’t seem to like my presence in the manor. I thought better to not have some of them turning in their graves.”

Like their previous time, Draco couldn’t get head or tail of Audré’s reply. It was well above his antenna. But he didn’t admit that to her.

“Er…aunt…you done visiting the graves?” Draco asked, only for the sake of winding up a normal conversation. He didn’t feel like talking about the memories now, especially to an especially enigmatic Audré.

“Which one? This one or that one?” Audré asked back, glancing down at the Pensieve.

Draco stifled a huff. Why was this woman being so difficult? Has she seen the memories? But that was impossible. He was alone down in there. What was it then? Did she know something and was trying to hide it from him?

“Let’s assume that you are asking me about _that_ one, the real one.” Audré placed a long leg over the other and said, “Yes. I did. And guess what? On my way back, I met a charming lady. She said her name was Mrs. Cassiopeia Greengrass.”

“Astoria’s mother?” Draco sat straight, the vein in his right temple starting to throb horribly at the mere mention of that name, “Is she here? Now?”

“She _was_ here, to visit her daughter’s grave.” Audré conjured a glass of water and took a leisurely sip, “I see no reason why you should be so angry about it. She mourns Astoria’s death as much as you do, Draco.”

Draco gritted his teeth. If anyone enraged him more than Granger in this world, it was this bloody old hawk, Mrs. Greengrass. From the very beginning of his marriage to her daughter she had been trying to dictate his life and when Astoria died while giving birth, she claimed that it was actually Mrs. Malfoy’s fault who had killed her bride because she couldn’t give the Malfoys a male heir.

“Have you been pigging on her bullshit?” He spat, exceptionally angry.

“ _Pigging_ on _bullshit_?” Audré arched an eyebrow, “Nice language, nephew! Where do you get them? I can have the dictionary passed over to Adrian. He’ll be so proud of his dear father’s rich vocabulary.”

Draco closed his eyes, the jibe hitting home. No, this wouldn’t do. He had to be patient; more patient. He needed Audré. She was the one who had saved his back in Brussels. She was the one who had traveled to Hogwarts and back and procured this memory for him.  Upsetting her wouldn’t do him any good. 

“I am sorry, aunt.” He offered her a sincere apology, “I just…don’t like Astoria’s mother. We never got along well.”

“You know, Draco,” Audré was examining her glass of water with extreme care, “I never liked liars much. They vex me. I am terribly vexed.”

Draco didn’t dare to retort and digested the insult silently. He didn’t like to be called a liar when his apology was sincere.

“Er…ummm…did Fleur tell anything about Adrian? Where he lives in France?” He decided to jump to a safer topic. The memory he had just watched hadn’t been helpful in providing him with a clue on that. But he was happy about one thing: Granger hadn’t gone to Australia, to her parents. Had that had happened he would never have known that he had another son, another heir, and a last ray of hope.

“What do you take women in general as?” Audré finished the water and set the glass on the table, beside the Pensieve, “What was that you called Professor Slughorn?” She frowned, as if trying hard to remember, “Oh, yes. Dickhead.  You think we are _dickheads_ , nephew?”

“Why would I think that?” Draco confessed truthfully, slightly perplexed.

“Because it sounded like we are.” Audré replied airily, “I assure you, nephew, if you already don’t know it, that women don’t carry _dicks_ and, therefore, they are not _dick_ heads.”

“Aunt, I am really sorry. Okay?” Draco sensed that the ice between them was still not broken and Audré was carrying a cold anger for him, “I am sorry for using those words, ‘dickhead’, ‘pigging’ and ‘bullshit’. I am also sorry for screaming at you in Brussels. I am sorry for every mistake that I must have made and have no idea. _I_. _Am_. _Sorry_.” He declared solemnly.

“ _That_ was not my intention, nephew, to make you apologize by force. I already know that Adrian is doomed for life.” Audré fixed her gaze on Draco, looking very calm and composed, “My actual question was that how could you expect Fleur Delacour to tell me the address of her home, or where Adrian lives, when she doesn’t even know I am here for that purpose? And even if I had told her that I am _here_ for _that_ purpose, do you think she would bow to me and say, ‘come Madame, let’s have a cup of coffee. After that I am going to tell you their address.’? Hm?”

Draco realized that it was not possible to beat Audré in a game of words. She was an accomplished lawyer and knew very well how to converse or to avoid any question she wouldn’t like to answer.

“Well, you managed to get me this memory, didn’t you?” He supplied matter-of-factly, trying to persuade her to talk, “So I thought maybe you’d find that one too and see if you are smarter than her.”

“Do I sense disappointment, nephew?” Audré arched an eyebrow, “But that’s a wrong path you take. You can’t make me talk by insults on my intellectual vanity. That’s not up to _anyone_ in this world. But let’s not waste our precious time on me. Let’s talk straight tonight, on you. When talking to Fleur I sensed that she is very reluctant to talk about Jean and Adrian. Can you please explain why that should happen?”

Draco felt that he was deliberately been dragged into a conversation he was extremely reluctant to have: the truth behind Adrian’s conception. So that’s what his aunt had been playing at? 

Audré continued to eye him calmly, “I hope you still remember your part of the deal, Draco?”

Draco felt unnerved under that gaze. “Of course, I do.” He nodded.

“You said you’ll tell me the truth.” Audré said, as though he needed reminding that.

“Yes, I did,” Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to look away. But somehow that wasn’t possible. Audré’s gaze was holding his firmly, unwilling to let it go and he couldn’t fight it. “But tonight is not the time, aunt.” He brought up his Occlumency defenses and tried to fight it, “Let’s first go back to France and look for Adrian. I’ll tell you everything there.”

“I don’t think so, dear nephew.” Audré shook her head firmly, “We, especially _I_ am not going anywhere, even to my grave, until I am done with this. So tell me, Draco,” she shuffled her legs, “Why would Fleur not want to tell me Adrian’s address? Is that because I am a _Malfoy_? Was there any fishy game in the manner Adrian was conceived?”

Draco involuntarily flinched at the word ‘conceive’. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Fleur.” He shrugged, “As for Adrian, he…was conceived just as all the babies are con…conceived.” He stammered, “The usual way.”

“Draco, I bore two Malfoys with your uncle.” Audré said coolly, “So don’t try to teach me about the _usual way_. I want to know what was _unusual_ about that usual way.”

“Nothing was unusual, aunt.” Draco was determined to not give in to Audré, “It’s just the regular stuff. Adrian’s mother and I slept. She became pregnant and had Adrian.”

“You and Adrian’s mother _slept_?” Audré repeated, her eyes gleaming like fireflies in a murky cave, “When? During the _war_? When Voldemort was staying at your house and threatening to _kill_ your parents? That’s really an _ideal_ time to sleep, isn’t it? And look at the woman you slept with! _Hermione_ Jean _Granger_! The Muggleborn _Gryffindor_! The one who helped Potter to bring _Voldemort_ down! How did it happen, Draco? Did she give an advertisement in the Daily Prophet? Something like, ‘Potter’s pal is looking for a _gigolo_ to have her _needs_ taken care of.’? Hm? And you being a _kind_ , _rich_ , and _arrogant pureblood Slytherin_ , a Death Eater’s _son_ , offered her your phallus for free? To have a spare heir arranged for future?”

It didn’t occur to Draco to ask how Audré knew who Jean Granger really was. He was shaking now, from head to foot. He didn’t know that anyone could talk like that, with words that were like piranha, digging into his man flesh and biting out the last of his restraints, his honour, his self-esteem.

“ _Aunt_!” a growl left his mouth. An uncontrollable anger, much like the one he had the day Granger attacked his mother was starting to boil inside, tearing and burning him.

“I am _not_ having a gigolo at my house, Draco.” Audré didn’t even flinch and held Draco’s gaze firmly, “It’s not safe for my daughter.”

“AUNT!” Draco bellowed this time and left his seat; whipping out his wand, he pointed it fervently to her heart, “Don’t say another word.” He warned her in a deadly whisper, “Or I’ll forget who you are.”

“Forget it then.” Audré stood up and came forward, closing the gap between them, “You think you can threaten me with that wand? You were not even born when I learnt to duel.” She grabbed his wand and positioned it more to the left, over her heart, “There. You place it there. Want to learn the spell that’ll kill me without a moment’s notice?”

Draco didn’t reply. His fingers were numb from holding the wand too tightly, his head was splitting with anger and his feet were shaking from the violent urge to run away from this place.

“Professor Slughorn was right. The apple _never_ falls far from the tree.” Audré raised an indignant eyebrow, her eyes blazing like a pit of fire, “Your father, Lucius Malfoy, was a Death Eater, a rampant killer. His father, Abraxas Malfoy, married a woman, Medusa, whose main sport was killing Muggle newborns for young blood and collecting live human eyes to make ‘Everlasting Elixir of Youth’. Abraxas’s father, Actaeus Malfoy’s hobby was to kidnap Muggle kids, gag and tie them to be used as baits for hunting animals. His father, Septimus, had the Minister for Magic on Imperius to pass a bill to have concubines brought from foreign countries. His father, Brutus Malfoy, had Muggle hunting made a legal sport. His father, Lucius Malfoy I, had a jinx placed on Queen Elizabeth I because she had rejected his marriage proposal. History knows; she never married. And last but not the least, Nicholas Malfoy, the great ancestors of Malfoys, who had a yew tree planted in the courtyard so that virgin woman could be kidnapped, raped and buried there, alive. Now the latest addition to that tree of _golden_ _apples_ is you, Draco. Go on! Prove that that _pure_ blood you so boast on is nothing but gutter water! That your pureblood family is nothing more byproducts of incestuous marriages! Prove it, Draco, prove it!”

Draco didn’t know if he has ever been this angry in his life. Other than Audré, who stood boldly before his wand, and him the rest of the surrounding was hazy, rippling like hot air over the desert sand. Blood was pounding in his ears; his breaths were irregular hitches. He was trembling. All these false allegations and insults on his father, on his ancestors! All these lies! This was too much! This was way. Too. Much!

“You have always seen the crown on the Malfoys’s head, Draco.” Audré was so calm that it almost hurt Draco to believe that she was actually human, “Of glory, of affluence, of wealth, of power, of status and influences. You should pry on their sleeves sometimes. There, you will find the innocent blood of many who were entombed here, in this manor. Rhodope Malfoy, your great grandmother. Morpheus, my husband. But enough is enough. What happened to them will not happen to my grandson. The walls of Malfoy Manor have heard enough screams for an eternity. Adrian will not add up to it.”

It was perhaps this one name, Adrian, that brought Draco to his senses. He looked down at his wand, pointing fervently at Audré’s heart. What the hell was he doing? Was he going to end up as a murderer and have his only son taken from him, forever? Audré Chombrun Malfoy wasn’t just anybody. She came from a very influential family. She was a lawyer. Her son was an Auror. Would he, Draco, be able to set foot on France if something fishy happened to Audré? Wouldn’t Julian have him hunted down and prosecuted for his mother’s death?

Draco took a deep calming breath. He was a Slytherin, wasn’t he? They were cunning and ambitious fellow who always got what they wanted. Then why was he losing his head? He could manage his aunt and have his son, both. Audré loved Adrian. He loved Adrian. They have this one and most important point in common.

“You want to know the truth?” Draco threw away his wand and faced his aunt boldly, “Fine. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything. But don’t blame me later because no matter what you say, aunt, I know it’s not my fault. It was _never_ my fault.” He spat, “You seem so keen to hate me, to prove me a murderer because I am Lucius Malfoy’s son. What about Jean Granger, her _holiness_? You found out so much about her! What about this little fact that she tried to _kill_ my mother? That if I were not there to stop her mother would have been _dead_?”

The silence that followed was one of the longest and most haunting he had ever experienced. Like a giant wave it crushed down on him, flooding him with the memories of that day when it had happened. Draco had always tried to keep it at bay, never remembered it on purpose and if it accidentally came up, to reason it on Granger.

But tonight would not be one of those occasions. Tonight he was going to have everything cleared, once and for all.

“Granger was with me at Hogwarts.” Draco started, staring down at Audré and feeling his old confidence return, “She was bossy, insufferable and strutted the place like she owned it. She thought being Potter’s sidekick made her practically royal.”

Audré didn’t interrupt. The gaze of her once blazing eyes was cool and calm now, like the surface of a blue pond.

“She was the _worst_ thing that ever happened to me.” Draco continued venomously, “In my seventh year, when Dark Lord was staying here, I returned home to spend the Easter holidays. Granger is a Mudblood. She couldn’t go to Hogwarts. Only purebloods were allowed there, as it should be. She was on a run with Potty, the _chosen_ one and Weasel, the biggest bunch of blood traitors. _That_ day, the day when it happened, I was at my room, upstairs, practicing a few useful spells. I heard the main gate speak and open. I thought it was some Snatchers who had come to meet Bellatrix. It wasn’t something unusual. She was Dark Lord’s most faithful lieutenant. I was working when I heard a scream. It was mother! I thought something must have happened to father. He had no wand. I ran downstairs and when I came down…”

Draco closed his eyes in horror. Everything was so vividly clear that it felt almost as if it was yesterday.

“…I saw…” He opened his eyes and stared defiantly at Audré’s, “…that you _dear_ Granger has taken mother hostage…she was pointing mother’s wand at her throat…and going to kill her…I don’t know what happened to me… I felt like ripping her from limb to limb… for touching my mother… for trying to kill her… how dare she…HOW DARE SHE…” Draco fisted his hands painfully, “So I did the first thing that came in my head. I grabbed her hair… dragged her to the dungeons and…”

Audré looked up at the ceiling and stalked off, not letting Draco finish his words.

“You raped her.” She said simply, “I guessed that already.”

“No.” Draco shook his head firmly, “ _I_ did not rape her. _She_ made me do it. I’d never touch a _filth_ like that! I’d never even spit on her! That’s a total waste of my saliva.”

“Was she a virgin?” Audré didn’t seem bothered by what she had just heard. Her back was turned to Draco; he couldn’t see her face. All he sensed that she was suddenly unusually quiet.

Draco didn’t reply. There was nothing to reply. Admitting it that Granger was a virgin was not going to make it look too pleasant.

“I sense no remorse in your tone, nephew.” Audré seemed to decipher his silence well.

“Because there is none.” Draco confessed boldly, “I am not a cold blooded rapist. I never took pleasure in what happened. Who would, actually? It was Granger and _she_ made me do it. I am _not_ accountable for it.”

“It was better Draco if you were a gigolo.” Audré sighed and turned to him again.

“What?” Draco gritted his teeth.

“Now, I am worried for Lillian. In fact who wouldn’t? No one is safe around you.” Audré stated indignantly, “Who knows when your long _wand_ would go out on rampage? What if my daughter is your next prey?”

Draco would have lost his temper once again had it not been the thought of Adrian that kept him sane and alive. Audré could insult him as much as she liked but he was not going to budge off and leave Adrian to rot in France.

“Don’t talk about what you don’t know, aunt.” He rolled the sleeve of left forearm and showed her the Dark Mark. It was pink now, but still prominent to show the snake and the skull, “I was given this on my sixteenth birthday and sent to kill Dumbledore. If I didn’t, the Dark Lord would kill my parents. I never wanted that to happen. But who cared what I wanted? Everyone called me a murderer.”

“Don’t tell me that Voldemort threatened to kill your parents if didn’t rape Potter’s pal.” Audré didn’t seem remotely affected by his angry outburst, “Because you’ll be a _mad dog_ to claim that. Why? Because from your _extensive_ knowledge on violating woman you should know, nephew, that it’s _impossible_ to _erect_ your _wand_ if you are not intending to do it. I can hold you on wand point and ask you to kill someone. To save your life, you can cast an Avada Kedavra and finish someone off. But I _can’t_ put you on wand point and say, ‘go Draco, rape that woman!’ That’s not possible and I’ll be a _rabies_ infected _mad dog_ to claim and make up such _disgusting_ stories for my own sadistic pleasures! Got that?”

Draco stood like a statue. Audré’s words were like salt on an open wound, cutting and slicing him from inside and almost killing him on the spot. Every nerve in his body was burning, every cell screamed to curse this woman. But it was Adrian’s innocent face that kept him sane, kept him from lashing out like an angry bull. He had no clue where that boy was and to find him he needed Audré.

“Look aunt,” Draco brought forth his most patient demeanor and tried to have his head cool, “I am not saying that Dark Lord forced me to do it. What I meant was that I never took pleasure in what happened. I have never touched a woman in my life, without her consent. At school, many girls threw themselves on me, begged me to sleep with them, for one night, or at least one hour. They even managed secret places for that. But I, Draco Malfoy, didn’t do it. When I married, I was faithful to my wife; I never cheated on Astoria. Look at me! I am still in black, Mourning for her.” He proudly prodded on his chest, “But Granger was an exception. She tried to kill mother. She angered me. So I didn’t think twice before punishing her. You call it rape, I call it punishment. It would have been rape if I had her stalked, kidnapped, tied and violated for my own pleasure. That was not the case here. Even six years from that damned day, when I first saw her in Brussels, I offered her my hand, to shake it. She didn’t take it. If _I_ were that _Malfoy_ you claimed as, I could have had her killed then and there and left with my son. But I didn’t do that. I didn’t even touch her, or Adrian. I waited patiently, I tried to be a good father.”

Draco took a deep breath. He half expected Audré to lash out on him again but strangely she didn’t. Maybe he has convinced her finally. All he needed now was just another nudge and she would on his side.

“Aunt, if you want to leave, you can. I won’t stop you.” Draco stated solemnly, “But before you go, do me this one last favour. Free me from this curse of a life! It’s already too unbearable without Scorpius and Astoria. It’s already too painful! Kill me and have me buried beside them. Merlin knows how much I want to be in one of those graves.”

Audré was giving him a peculiar look. It had sadness, pity and a strange determination. Draco picked up his wand and handed it to her.

“Go on. Finish me.” He asked her calmly, “You can do it. Only _you_ can do it. I see no point in living anymore. My Adrian is gone. What would I do with this empty, wretched life?”

“You know what, nephew,” Audré stowed the wand back into his hand and shook her head, “you should consider a career in movies. You’ll make a great tragic hero.”

“One man’s meat is another man’s poison.” Draco knew that he has succeeded; Audré was on his side now, “Those who have not tasted it can never tell.”

Audré snorted, looking greatly amused, “You have no idea what poison it, dear nephew. I wish I could give you a good dose of it.” she crossed her arms and took the seat she had been occupying, “Did you really mean what you just said? What can you do to prove it?”

“ _Anything_. Unbreakable Vow, Veritaserum, you name it.” Draco stated solemnly, “I love my son. I mean no harm to Adrian or his mother. I take no pleasure from it.”

“Very well.” Audré drew out her wand, “Take a Wizard’s Oath then. Place your right hand on your chest and repeat after me.”

A Wizard’s Oath? Draco faltered under Audré’s request. He hadn’t considered that possibility. He had suggested an Unbreakable Vow because he knew Audré wouldn’t try to have him killed. Veritaserum, on the other hand, would only help him prove his innocence. But his aunt has gone for something completely unexpected. Breaking a Wizard’s Oath could have more severe consequences than an Unbreakable Vow. He could lose his magic, forever.

“You said you will do anything.” Audré, taking opportunity of his silence pressed delicately, “I see that you were not entirely sincere.”

“No, it’s not that.” Draco made up his mind. What was the point of being a wizard if he had no means to live for? “I will not apologize to Granger for a crime that I did not commit. In fact, she should be apologizing to me for running away with _my_ son.”

“I told you once before, Draco, my intentions are not to _make_ you apologize to anyone.” Audré said, nonplussed, “I merely want my grandson and Jean Granger safe from you. You should not have any problem since you claimed that you took no _pleasure_ and was rather _forced_ to do it.”

“What about Lillian?” Draco enquired sharply, desperately in need to clean the misconception that he could attack his cousin or any woman on that matter.

Audré smiled, “My daughter is not some helpless girl, Draco that you can open and exploit at your leisure. The Chombruns train their daughters very well. If you so much as look at her in a manner that displeases me, your _wand_ be removed and thrust into your mouth. But…” she paused delicately, “…what intrigues me is that Narcissa feigns complete ignorance on this matter.”

“Mother doesn’t know.” A shiver went down Draco’s spine at the thought of what would happen if she ever came to know. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good idea to admit it before Audré, who seemed convinced that he was not guilty but at the same time wanted Adrian and Granger safe. “Don’t tell her, aunt.” He placed his right hand over his heart, ready to take the Wizard’s Oath, “I love my mother. She and Adrian are the only ones I have left.”

“I could be a French _courtesan_ , Draco, but blackmailing is something that even I can’t do. That’s for the likes of your esteemed father.” Audré pointed her wand at his hand, “Let’s take the Oath, shall we? I, Draco Malfoy…” She began.

“I, Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Draco repeated after her.

“Solemnly swear upon my honour, if I have any left…”

“Solemnly swear upon my honour…” Draco kept his head cool.

“Upon my blood, that understates people…”

“Upon my blood…” Draco took a deep calming breath.

“Upon my power as a wizard…”

“Upon my power as a pureblood wizard…” Draco added evenly.

“That I’ll not harm Hermione Jean Granger and her son…”

“That I’ll not harm Hermione Jean Granger and our son…” Draco corrected.

“Adrian Thomas Granger…”

“Adrian Thomas Granger Malfoy…” Draco remembered the conversation on his son’s name and added the last bit.

“By speech, by action or by any other means possible.”

 “By speech, by action or by any other means possible.”

“This I take Oath to my aunt Audré Chombrun Malfoy.”

“This I take Oath to my aunt Mrs. Audré Chombrun Morpheus Malfoy.”

The tip of Audré’s wand was glowing now, its brightness increasing with each passing moment. Looking at it, Draco realized that he was almost done taking the Wizard’s Oath for the first time in his life, for the last son he had. Now came the hardest and tricky part.”

“And if I should break my Oath…” Audré continued and the light on her wand flickered and turned red, as if warning Draco subtly.

“And if I should be forced to break my Oath…” Draco did his best to phrase the words in his favour.

“Let my magical powers leave me for good and never return.”

“Let my magical powers leave me for good and never…” Draco waited a nanosecond before continuing, “…return.”

The last of their words echoed in the semi darkness of the library.  Slowly, it faded away like smoke in the air. The red light turned a cool green and reaching its zenith, broke off from the wand. Like a light bubble it hovered in the air, floated to Draco and passing through his hand and disappeared into his chest. Draco held his breath, waiting for pain but nothing happened.

“I am going back to Rosings.” Audré stood up and declared, as if they had just had a nice dinner and chat, “Tomorrow, we’ll catch the earliest possible Portkey to France.”

She left. Draco looked down at the Pensieve. The memories were still swirling there like a milky way.

•••••

Thousands of miles away, in a residence tucked in the centre islands of Paris, Hermione Granger was almost done brushing her teeth, thinking and smiling serenely about the nice dinner she has had with Adrian and the rest of the Delacours when she heard a sharp splitting sound. A moment later, a crack appeared on the bathroom mirror, halving her reflection on it diagonally.

“Mama!” Came Adrian’s loud cry from their bedroom and startled, Hermione ran out, her toothbrush still dangling from mouth.

Adrian was sitting on a windowsill and examining the book Monsieur Monette had given him. “Mama, look!” he cried. Hermione looked at the direction he was pointing at. A large crack has appeared on the windowpane, just over his faint reflection. Like the one in the bathroom mirror, it too, was cutting his reflection diagonally. “I didn’t do it.” Adrian piped defensively, “It just happened.”

Not knowing why, Hermione ran to Adrian and grabbing his upper arm, pulled him away from the windowsill. “Mama!” The boy cried and gave her an alarmed look. Hermione didn’t care. For the first time in six and a half years she was feeling a strange fear return.

A fear that only the real Draco Malfoy could bring.

 


	18. Chapter 18: The Deceiving Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblance is co-incidental. No money or profit is being earned from this writing.
> 
> A/N: Thanks to everyone for comments, bookmarks, kudos and votes on the last chapter. Please let them keep coming.   
> I know it’s been a while since I last updated this story. I’m not going to show any excuses for the delay because I really couldn’t help it. TPA is a complex story and with three different exams haunting me all the time, I’m just going to thank people for the patience they have had with me, from the bottom of my heart.

** Acknowledgements: **

  * The images used in this chapter are copyright to their respective owners.


  * The painting of ‘Notre Dame’ and ‘Grand Canal of Venice’ is done by renowned British watercolour artist David Harmer, who also happens to have done the drawing of ‘Two White Rabbits’ for TPA too. He has a wonderful blog at[ www.offtoafineart.com](http://www.offtoafineart.com) and his other diverse set of works can be found on [davidharmerwatercolour.co.uk. ](http://www.davidharmerwatercolour.co.uk)


  * Monsieur Monette’s interview was actually given by Monsieur David Harmer. The words are his.


  * And last but not the least, the man who is behind all the French dialogues. That’s Monsieur Joseph Renaud of Word Reference dot com where he is a professional translator but has very kindly helped me with everything France and French. Cheers, Monsieur.



**Warning:** The Poisoned Apple is a story for _mentally_ mature adults. There are and will be materials in it which requires thorough knowledge of human body, mind and relationships. Reader’s discretion is required.

** Chapter 18: The Deceiving Silence **

**S** ome said silence was acceptance; some said silence was the calm before the storm. Audré said silence was deceiving. One had no means to understand what was behind a silence until it was broken.

Close to midnight on Tuesday, the Westminster Bridge was deserted. The two centuries old bridge was one of those iconic landmarks that appeared on anything associated with London: red double decker buses, red phone booths, the London Eye, and Westminster Palace. During day it was a busy and bustling place, with tourists standing around to enjoy an unparalleled view of Thames and take photos of the various impressive sights. At night the bridge was quieter, but the view, more stunning and colourful. The bridge was painted in green and glowed like a gigantic stone snake linking two banks of Thames. On the West stood the Palace of Westminster with its world famous clock tower, the Big Ben, both emanating a proud golden hue. On the East was propped the London Eye, a giant Ferris Wheel; usually lighted by electric blue colour it stood against all old and aristocratic buildings, as a monument of a more modern London.

Tonight it was raining in London but the mood was different. There was scent of an approaching storm in the air. Grey clouds were swirling overhead, slow and centripetal. They rumbled occasionally, as though warning everyone to stay at home and not venture, hither and thither.

Rain was pouring in a slanting line, making almost sixty degrees before hitting surface of centuries old, cobble-stone and concrete bridge. The wet surface was illuminated by reflections of lights from surrounding buildings: golden from the Palace and Big Ben and blue from the London Eye. What a surreal mixture it looked, as though a thousand shattered, coloured glass pieces have been laid down to form a path. As the curtain of rain thickened a bit, a lone figure materialized on the bridge. It stood still for a second, as though trying to balance on the rain-washed surface. Then it started walking.

Audré simply wanted to forget the last few weeks of her life, most of all the last few hours she had spent at the Malfoy Manor. Aside from the horror that was associated with its very existence, air smelled of the dead there, and silence pressed on from all sides as though one was stuck in eternity while trying to apparate. She just wanted those to be erased from her damned memory, permanently. For nothing had Morpheus ran away from that doom of a place that the Malfoys called their home.

Rain washed over Audré’s elegant figure and in less than a minute, she was completely soaked. But ignoring it, she continued walking on the deserted bridge.

It was one of those very rare occasions where Audré found herself too overwhelmed to think properly. That usually never happened. As a person, she was quick-witted and smart. When that was combined with observation power as good as hers, and an extensive experience on human nature, there could be no doubts about the correctness of her analysis. Seldom has she been proven wrong.

And tonight was one of those seldom occasions. She has been proven wrong.

Audré stopped, took a deep breath, turned right and grabbed the bridge railing. She was facing the river now. Even on a rainy night, Thames looked magnificent. Its dark water rippled and ran like an endless stream. One of its banks featured a golden hued palace and with its clock tower and the other featured a neo-architecture, blue-lit, mega orb: the London Eye. She stared at them and at the water where the gold met the blue, for a very long time.

It was unbelievable! Draco was a rapist, a real rapist, not that there were any fake rapists in the world, and he has assaulted a classmate when he was eighteen! Audré didn’t know which part of that truth was hunting her the most.

It was one thing to assume a horrific occurrence and it was another to hear it from the offender’s own lips. Audré had been having a peculiar feeling right after Fleur refused to tell her about Jean. But rape? That she, honestly, hadn’t considered. In her naivety, she had taken Draco as a person different from his esteemed father. Audré had no doubts that Lucius could rape. In fact he’d do it only for the pleasure of it, without a single moment’s hesitation. He was a sadist and acquired pleasure from dominating and demeaning people. And if the witch was a Muggleborn, then it was even more pleasurable because it would justify the rape. As though for a Muggleborn witch, rape was nothing but the next great honour.

But Draco? External appearances aside, he didn’t seem to like his father much. In fact, he seemed to harbour a silent resentment for his mistreated. Why would then he follow his father’s path? Only because he was angry? If someone could rape in a fit of rage, there was no knowing what he could do next.

Audré, Audré, Audré….

Audré called her inner peace and strength. Cool. Take breath. Relax. She hasn’t come here to drench in rain and catch a cold. No. She has come here for some open air, oxygen, peace and quiet. With what has happened at Malfoy Manor, the mere thought of returning to Rosings was making her go sick. That spacious hotel suite might be good for a pleasant stay on a rainy night like this, but right now, it felt too small, and too congested of a place to be. Before going there, she needed to breathe and calm her inner turmoil. Most importantly, she needed a place where she wouldn’t be _aunt_ Audré. That role was beginning to feel suffocating now.

Audré closed her eyes. Thames went out and Adrian’s face swum into view. He didn’t look happy at all. He looked sad, and demented, almost as Rhodope did. No. She couldn’t make the same mistake twice. Draco couldn’t be trusted. He was, first and foremost, a Malfoy, and considering the virtue of that poisonous blood, nothing was unexpected of him. _Nothing_. He could rape, he could kill. Forget Adrian, no child in the world should suffer the curse of a father like Draco Malfoy.

The next face that appeared before Audré’s mind was Jean’s. Draco, like all rapists, was unrepentant and ridiculously obsessed with blaming the crime on the survivor. But Audré knew what it took a woman so treated to bear a baby of violence. She must have gone through hell, to have that baby. Now she had no idea that a terrible danger was following her and Adrian.

It took Audré a solid ten minutes to cleanse her mind of every dark thought and guilt and regain her confidence. No, it still wasn’t over. No big damage was done. Adrian was still out of Draco’s reach. That meant there was still hope. All she needed to do now was to play at that hope. Hope, what a beautiful and frightening word was it! H – O – P - E. A very simple spelling. Before tonight, she has entertained herself by watching people live out their miserable lives on these four letters. Now, she, too, has joined that race.

Audré opened her eyes and watched the Thames flow. She has seen another river like this: Seine. That lifeline of Paris had thirty seven bridges built over it, connecting its two banks. Audré felt that she, too, was acting like a bridge now, connecting Draco to Adrian. What would happen if that bridge suddenly collapsed? Or worse led Draco to a completely different place?

A smile appeared on Audré’s lips. It wasn’t one of those sickly sweet smiles she gave to warn people or the fake ones she put on to hide her true emotions. No. It was an honest smile, one that appeared when she was amused. Oh poor nephew! Did he know what a dangerous bridge he has chosen to cross his way to Adrian? Probably not. He was busy deluding himself, thinking he was won her sympathy with his great sad story about the Dark Mark and Dark Lord. And that Wizard’s Oath? He had taken it with a valour very uncommon to the name of the Slytherins, thinking she’d be on his side if he could portray himself as a victim of the situation. Did he think he could fool her so easily?

The Oath has served only one purpose. Audré has tested the extent of her control over Draco after a series of deliberate humiliation to make him confess. Now that it’s been tested, all she has to do was to play her part well.

When a new day arrived Audré didn’t know. She realized it when the clock on the Big Ben started issuing strikes. One. Two. Three. Four. Its sound was grave, deep and sleepy, like the slow murmuring of a grandfather trying to put his grandkid to sleep. Audré listened to it, intently. How she missed her grandfather! He was one of the wisest counsels she had ever come across.

It was half past midnight when Audré returned to Rosings. Her foot prints didn’t leave a muddy mark on the sparkling marble lobby; they were clean. Her robes were dry and she looked so composed and serene, as though she has just enjoyed a nice dinner with a special someone. The hotel reception desk had two charmingly smiling witches even at this hour, to welcome their esteemed guests. They noticed her enter.

Audré walked to the reception desk and smiled, this time preferring a polite one.

“Good morning Madame Malfoy.” One of the pretty witches greeted her. She was dressed in exquisite crimson robes trimmed with white fur and an ornate ‘R’ stitched over left side of her bosom. “How may I help you?” She enquired pleasantly.

Audré thought the witch would do well a Muggle Santa Clause model. “Good morning.” She greeted back. It always marveled her how the English used something so remotely distant as morning to greet people past midnight. The French used _Bonsoir_ , which meant _Good Evening_. “I’d like to request for an early morning Portkey to Paris.” She stated.

“One moment please.” The witch retrieved a Portkey Requisition Form and while continuing smiling charmingly, dipped a quill in inkpot. Audré waited patiently, letting the witch work. These forms were immediately sent to the Ministry of Magic, on behalf of the hotel, to arrange for an International Portkey. “At which hour Madame?” She asked Audré as she reached halfway down the requisition form.

“The earlier the better.” Audré replied, not giving a specific time. “And also please have Mr. Draco Malfoy notified. He was a guest in your hotel. You’ll find his address in your entry book.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” the witch’s smile waned just a bit, “is still our guest. He hasn’t checked out yet.” She said curtly and finished her paper work, “Please sign here, Madame.” She pushed the form to her and tapped at the bottom of the page.

Audré took the quill and signed on the allotted area. She returned the form to the witch, who folded it neatly and after sealing it, had it sent through the Floo fireplace roaring behind her.

“Your request will be processed by the Ministry, Madame Malfoy, at the earliest convenience.” The witch returned to the desk and informed Audré, “And we’ll have your nephew notified. There is one problem, though. A low pressure has developed in English Channel. That’s why you see all this raining at midnight. If the forecast is telling us right, a storm will hit the English and French coast by midday tomorrow. We are very sorry but it’s possible that we wouldn’t be able to provide you with a Portkey before afternoon, or until the Ministry gives us a clearance signal.”

“That’s completely fine.” Audré assured the witch. Like Muggle aircrafts, Portkeys didn’t take off during storm, she knew that. “Bonne nuit.”

“Bonne nuit.” The witched bade a polite good night and Audré returned to her room, feeling light and pleasant. Perhaps it had something to do with the long day, the trip to Hogwarts and the horrific revelations later at Malfoy Manor, she was feeling tired now. She might even succeed in falling asleep, if she tried. Slowly and deep in thought, Audré changed into her night clothes, climbed into the queen bed and blew off the candles. Her room plunged into a pleasant darkness.

Audré closed her eyes and tried to remember all the lullabies her mother used to sing to her. There were several, but her favourite one was the Czech Muggle one, the one that said a mother would rock her precious baby to sleep. Like a good little girl, Audré hummed it for a while and against the gentle drumming of raindrops pitting and patting on the windows, fell asleep.

•••••

Draco woke abruptly.

What the hell was hammering on his head? It was aching so badly!

Draco winced and rubbed his forehead. He wasn’t fully healed but was released on the assurances that he’d follow St. Waltrude’s Healers’ advices: avoid stress and take his potions regularly. But he hasn’t followed any. For last few days his only thought had been Adrian.

Draco blinked thrice, and let his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark surroundings.

Where the hell was he? And why was it so dark? Except for a silvery glow on his left and the dark outlines of furniture, he couldn’t see a thing.

Draco focused his eyes on what he was staring at. It was a painted ceiling. They had painted ceilings at manor, the Malfoy Manor. His eyes next moved to a chandelier. It was a grand one, only he didn’t like what it was made of. Human ribs. The candle stubs has long been extinguished but silvery wisps of smoke still hung in the air, like a light mist. He has seen that chandelier before. Where?

Then, like a bag full of bricks it hit Draco on his already aching head. How could he forget it? He was at Malfoy Manor! He was here to watch some memories that his aunt Audré had procured earlier, from that bitch of a useless beauty called Fleur Delacour.

Draco sat up and took several deep breaths. He moved his neck from side to side. In addition to his head, it, too, was aching from sleeping in an odd position on a couch.

There was a flash of lightning. Seeping in through the mullioned windows it illuminated the library. The sound of thunder followed a millisecond later. It crushed and shook the Manor like a mini earthquake. Windows rattled. The rib chandelier swayed overhead. Wind was howling relentlessly, like a mad dog. Except its haunting sound the Manor was too quiet to be considered a home. It felt dead. What was the time? Why was he so disoriented?

Draco did one last round of neck exercises and scanned the library for the family grandfather clock. Yes, it was there, beside the Portrait of Vlad the Impaler. Draco was told that one of his ancestors had married a beautiful countess from that Romanian family. He couldn’t quite remember his name, but remembered it well that the Romanian lady had brought the Malfoys an exquisite dowry and this six centuries old grandfather clock was one of them. The clock dial was made of pure gold and the hands were encrusted with diamonds. But the real wonder was in the pendulum. Its bob was made of a pigeon’s egg’s size of emerald. It was the only time piece of such grandeur in entire Britain. Now it was his property and through him, Adrian’s.

Draco’s eyes fixed themselves on the moving arms of the grandfather clock. It was quarter past three in the morning. That means he had slept for almost three hours now. However, he had no recollections of falling asleep. Maybe he was too tired, or too stressed, or both.

Shifting his gaze to the silvery glow before, Draco spotted the Pensieve. That French tramp, Fleur and that clueless idiot, Weasley’s memories were still swirling inside. For a split second he considered rewatching them, to see if he could find a clue as to where Adrian lived in France. But that would mean watching that Mudblood whine about her rape and pregnancy. How these cheap whores could make issue of slightest of things! Pathetic!

Something lay beside the Pensieve. A rectangular something. Draco retrieved his wand and lit the tip, using a nonverbal _Lumos_. The rectangular something turned out to be a letter.

Draco reached out and picked up the envelope. It was from Rosings and was addressed to him. Wondering what it could be, he tore the side of the envelope, roughly. An official looking letter came slipping out. He unfolded it and read it in wandlight.

_To, Mr. D. Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor, of Wiltshire_ , an elegant feminine writing said,

_Dear sir,_

_We, at Rosings Hotel, Piccadilly Square, London, were requested to provide a Portkey by Madame Audré Chombrun Malfoy, to Paris. As per the Ministry guideline, we have proceeded with the request, and a Portkey would be ready for you at earliest time tomorrow. However, this letter is to notify you that a low pressure has developed in English Channel. It has brought heavy showers, thunderstorms and flooding, across entire England and northwestern France. We believe you are aware of the International Regulation for Safe Magical Travelling, that International Portkeys don’t take off in extreme weather conditions. We deeply regret the unfortunate situation and promise to keep you informed about any new developments._

Draco reached this far and crumped the letter into a tight ball, not caring to read who had written it. Must be some first class stupid. International Portkeys didn’t take off during storm! Draco snorted. As though he cared! If Portkey wasn’t available, he’d take a broom ride to France.  If that wasn’t possible, he’d take a Thestral. If that too wasn’t available, he’d hire a private plane and go to France. But he’d go to France. There was no way he’d waste another moment in England.

Draco aimed the crumpled letter at the closest fireplace and released it like a catapult. It landed there, neatly, among the ashes. He then conjured a goblet of water and rummaged his pockets for the portable potion kit. Having found it, he mixed a drop of the Headache Relieving Potion with water and downed it in go. He burped and waited five seconds for the drug to start its effect.

Draco sat back and closed his eyes. While the drug would do its work, he’d think. Memories from Brussels flashed before his eyes: when Adrian first appeared for the Drawing Competition, he looked so handsome in that suit…when Draco sneaked into his room and watched him run around, his son was of perfect health and loved playing with water… then at the poolside, when he was learning swimming, the boy was a wonder… and back in his room, how cleverly he solved the puzzles, just like his father did. Adrian. Adrian. Adrian. Draco whispered the name, again and again. Adrian. His son. _His_ son. Draco Malfoy’s only living, brilliant, talented, clever, playful, full of life and healthy son.

‘ _But he is a Halfblood!_ ’ A nasty voice spoke inside Draco’s head and punctured the tender moment of Draco’s glorious fatherhood, ‘ _He can’t be a Malfoy!_ ’

‘Shut the fuck up and get lost!’ Draco gritted his teeth. This bloody voice! It just wouldn’t let him be in peace! Whenever he was happy, whenever he was feeling good about something, it would speak up, like a vengeful prompter determined to ruin a nice play. If it was anyone else but him, they’d have thought that they have lost their minds and consulted a Healer. But Draco knew better. That image of his father in the hotel room and this voice, they were just echoes of his insecurities. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t going mad either.

After what felt like ten minutes, Draco felt that his headache was gone. And so was the voice. He was himself again, both inside his head and outside. Draco sat straight, cleaned up the Pensieve, bottled the memories, and put it back on its place. He put the memories there, too. There was no point taking them to France. If his mother, somehow, watched them, he would be in deep trouble. Narcissa might be a loving mother but Draco wasn’t particularly interested in sharing this piece of his past with her.

By half past three, he was done clearing up his work space. He was usually a messy guy and never cared to clean up after him. He had servants to do that for him. Then he stood up, walked to one of the rattling windows and looked out.

Outside was as good as hell. Wind was singing an agonizing song. Trees were swaying wildly, like one of crazy witches from Weird Sisters. Their trunks twisted and turned like a Whomping Willow writhing in pain. Draco watched them for a long minute before remembering something his aunt had told him tonight.

Nicholas Malfoy had planted a yew tree, somewhere in the Malfoy Manor estate. It was used as a sacrificial pit for virgin women who were raped first.

Draco didn’t know whether he should laugh at the ridiculous allegation or attempt to curse aunt Audré for it. The latter was not an option, because he’d need her to find Adrian. He could do the former, but now he was in a too sour of a mood to laugh. So he did none.

Draco focused on the storm instead. It really was a terrible one. He doubted if he could stay mounted on a broom for more than five minutes, let alone make a thousand miles long journey. Thestrals. His mind jumped to those skeletal horses next. Dumbledore’s death has done him one great favour. He could see Thestrals now. How very lucky! Malfoy Manor was once home to all kind of fascinating, exotic and rare animals. Thestrals, Minotaurs, Kneazles, even Pegasus. His Grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy was an ardent collector of them. Those animals still existed, only they lived in the vast forest wetland on the north of the Malfoy Manor. Draco hasn’t been there for a very long time and going to look for a Thestral, in a forest, on a stormy night as this, didn’t seem like a pretty good idea.  It sounded like something Potter would do.

Draco rubbed his eyes. That left him with one last option. He’d have to hire a private aircraft. If it were old times, when his father was feared and respected in the Ministry, arranging an aircraft was just a matter of seconds. Those days might be over but the name Malfoy still commanded some respect. Draco would use that to see if he could hire a private aircraft. But for that he needed the morning to come. He couldn’t do anything at this hour.

Draco left the window side and decided to return to his own bedchamber. He swept one last glance over the library. It was full of family heirlooms and unforeseen treasures. One day, one day his son and he’d be here. He’d show what a grand manor Adrian belonged to, what a great family he came from. And that Mudblood? She could rot in the mud that she came from.

Draco left the library and started for the upper floor. The library was on the first floor, and the bedchambers were on the second. He covered the corridor and took the staircase. It brought him up on another spacious corridor, identical as the one below.

Draco stood there for a long second, trying to decide which direction to go. If it was his own bedchamber, obviously he should take the one on his right, the corridor that led through the East Wing. But he was in two minds about it now. What would he do returning to his own room? There was no one there. It was empty, as his heart was.

Draco, not knowing why he was doing it, took the corridor that led to the opposite side. He was going to his Uncle Morpheus’s room. Something about it has stirred his curiosity.

Candles in brackets sprang to life as Draco passed them. They illuminated his path, but faintly. Draco noticed that the darkness was more solid here, than the rest of the Malfoy Manor. It also felt colder. In a minute, he reached Morpheus Malfoy’s old room. The door was closed. It looked as though no one has dared to venture here, after Audré had left.

Draco ignited the tip of his wand and wrenched open the knob. It creaked a little but didn’t protest. Waiting a second, he threw open the door and held the wand before him, in defense, as though expecting an invisible enemy to come out and attack him.

Nothing happened. No one came out, visible or invisible. Draco stared at the dimly lit room for a long moment before making up his mind. There was nothing here, except the eerie silence that’s been trapped for decades.

Lowering the wand, he stepped into the never seen, never been room. A chandelier sprang into life and flooded the place with a warm light. Draco looked up at the ceiling. This was a chandelier? No sparkling crystals, no decorative works, no nothing. Just a few candle stubs, that’s all. It hung from the ceiling like a dead sprig of tree. Even the chandelier at Filch’s office should be grander, it that squib had any.

Draco looked down and focused at the room in general. It was very _very_ bare: a four poster bed with no hangings, and a writing desk with a chair. No dark green wallpaper on the wall. No book shelves. No cloak cupboard. Even the only window had no curtain. Was the place originally like this? Or did his grandparents tore the place of its last remaining memory of their forsaken son? Draco didn’t know.

In such a lusterless and vacant room, which Draco could do away with as an unused store room, the only thing out of place was a large portrait of a noblewoman: his great-grandmother, Rhodope Malfoy. Draco remembered his last time here. Aunt Audré had been sitting before the portrait and looking up at it, transfixed. He had gone to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She had looked up and asked him to book her a room at Rosings.

Draco walked to the portrait and stood before it. Unlike their last time, the occupant of the portrait was present there. She looked down at him and he looked up at her.

No one spoke for a long minute.

“What did you tell her?” Draco broke the silence, finally, curious to know what had driven Aunt Audré to be so strange that night, “You never talk. You are the Silent Lady. Then what did you tell her that night that she left?”

Rhodope Malfoy didn’t answer. As though doing justice to her name, she remained silent. The only visible change that appeared on her face was a faint smile.

Draco definitely had no patience for nonsense and even less so when it was a portrait of someone who had set up the lives of his ancestors. A part of him wanted to get rid of the portrait, once and for all. But another part of him, the part that was Slytherin, warned him against such an act. No, Draco, no. That’d be so foolish! Especially when he could use this portrait to get to something, or in this case, to someone.

Draco gave her great-grandmother a charming smile, almost identical to the one she has given him. Then he reached forward, grabbed the sides of the gilded frame and brought the painting down from its place on the wall. It was heavy and to his immense delight, he heard a squeak when the frame hit the floor with a loud thud.

“What are you doing?” Rhodope must be shocked at the sudden turn of events and chosen to break her eternal silence, but Draco didn’t care. He was finally happy to get rid of the troublesome portrait.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Rhodope was screaming now, “WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?”

Draco paid her no heed and carried the heavy portrait to the bed. He laid it there, conjured some thick brown parchment and started wrapping the portrait with it.

“NO! NO! NOT TO HIM! NOT TO HIM! PLEASE! I’LL DO ANYTHING! ANYTHING!” Rhodope was hysterical. She was banging on the sides of the portrait, like a terrified and trapped bird that thought it would be fed to a cat. Draco ignored the vile woman. She could scream as she wanted. Draco would have his mean, by hook or by crook.

Rhodope Malfoy’s helpless screams echoed across Morpheus Malfoy’s empty bedchamber. “NO! PLEASE DRACO, I’M YOUR GREAT-GRANDMOTHER! DON’T DO THIS TO ME!” she implored him. Draco was working with vicious diligence, wrapping the painting very well to muffle its cries when her words reminded of him another woman’s screaming.

_‘NO, MALFOY! NO! I’M YOUR CLASSMATE! DON’T DO THIS TO ME!’_

Draco stopped working, stood back and stared vacantly at the half-wrapped portrait. Rhodope was still screaming, its shrill sound piercing three layers of thick brown paper and reaching his eardrums very well. But it was not her screaming that was bothering him. It was the other woman’s screaming. He knew who she was.

Draco left the portrait on the bed and went to the window. Suddenly, he has lost every bit of appetite in punishing that rebellious portrait. It just didn’t seem appealing anymore. He clapped once and heard a loud cracking sound. One of the house elves has arrived to do his bidding.

“Master?” He heard a high-pitched voice, waiting for his order. Draco’s back was already turned to the room, and he was not particularly interested to see which of the wretched elves it was. So he didn’t turn.

“Have that damned thing gift-wrapped properly and delivered to my aunt.” Draco gave his order in minimum words.

“As master wishes.” The voice spoke and after a minute’s silence, Draco heard another loud crack. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the bed was empty. Rhodope and her carrier elf, both were gone.

Draco turned to face the room. Without the portrait, it felt like a grave. That annoying scream inside his head has turned down a lot. In fact, it was almost gone.

_‘Draco!’_ Draco rebuked himself and called for his inner calm, _‘You are not responsible for what happened to her. She is a Mudblood! She tried to kill your mother! She had to be punished. You did what you had to do. Is that clear?’_

Draco nodded, agreeing with his inner self. He was not responsible for anything. Granger was responsible for what happened to her. She was the one who has brought it. He had not lusted over her, or stalked her, or kidnapped her to rape her and get pleasure. Mudbloods like her should be punished properly and shown their real place in the Wizarding society.

Draco left his uncle’s old room. On his way out, he didn’t care to close the door.

Some things were better left forgotten.

•••••

Audré woke up, so fresh that she felt reborn. There was nothing like a good night’s sleep.

She lay in the bed, for a long time, like a little girl would on a cold, rainy day: wrapping her comforter and dreaming about sweet fairy tales. The table clock on the nightstand said it was five minutes past five o’ clock in the morning but in outside, there was no hint of an approaching dawn.

Mercifully, the sleep has depoisoned her head. She wasn’t angry on Draco anymore. With what he has done to himself, she could only have one feeling for him: pity. It wasn’t sympathy, as Draco had wanted her to have for him and be on his side. It was pure pity, pity for a stubborn child who has done such wrong that couldn’t be undone and was now refusing to acknowledge it. Did Draco know what has he done to himself?

Audré was sure that like all but one Malfoys, Draco, too has never paid much heed to his inner self. In fact, she seriously doubted the presence of an inner self, a conscience, a second entity that’d stop him from going on the wrong track. He was a Malfoy. They weren’t as poised as a being human should be. They were animals in extravagant clothing.

Not having much to pack or look forward to, Audré left bed late. She went to the large window and drew back the curtains. The windowpanes were foggy. It was obscuring her view. She wiped clean a little patch and peeped out.

Indeed, it was a storm as a storm should be. The curtain of rain was thick and street below was deserted. There were no pedestrians. Even Muggle taxis and cars were so infrequent that it didn’t seem like a busy London square.

Audré stood and watched the storm. Somehow, her mind flew to Paris, to Adrian. Was it storming there too? What was her little grandson doing now? Maybe he was eating breakfast. Maybe, he was sleeping late today, like she had. Would it be strange to say that she was missing him? Wasn’t it a wonder that he has blown life in her already extinguished soul?

Audré sighed and left the window side. After she returned home, she’d sit down and have a serious conversation with Julian about his future plans. Was he even willing to have a wife and family or not? Most of his friends were married. Some were likely to be parents too.

Audré got prepared for the day, expecting Draco to come barging in, any moment, furious about the Portkey delay. By the time she was done, tea was served and with it, the morning’s newspaper.

Today’s _Daily Prophet_ , Audré scanned it idly as she sat back and took a small sip from her cup, was featuring a very interesting twelve column headline:

_MLE Head criticizes press_

_Defends DEATH EATER Son-in-Law_

Underneath was a moving photo of what looked like a Ministry press conference. Audré frowned and scrutinized it.

Five Aurors were sitting in a row. The photo was black and white, so Audré couldn’t perceive the colour of their uniforms. In the middle, sat an elderly man, maybe her age, or probably bit older. His lips were moving silently, meaning that he was the one talking to the press. On his right sat a man who Audré knew too well to miss. Harry Potter. The man with round-rimmed glasses and messy black hair, was silent and had an unfocused gaze, as though lost in thoughts. Not for much unknown reasons, the camera was focused more on Potter, than on the elderly man beside him.

Audré read the caption. It said:

_Harry Potter maintains silence as his boss defends Draco Malfoy._

It wasn’t always that newspaper headlines could stir Audré’s curiosity. This morning seemed one of those rare occasions. Wondering what was taking Draco so long to come breaking in, complaining like an angry child, she decided to proceed with the news.

It was a long one, spinning almost three columns of the front page and covering almost half of the page 2. The reporter seemed single-mindedly focused to allot most of his writing on how Harry Potter sat, which direction he looked at, how many times he scratched his nose and how he reacted to his boss’s words, every time. As for his boss, a man named Ebenezer Greengrass, who was holding the press conference to inform the press that most of Lord Voldemort’s known followers have been tried and executed and that there was no imminent threat, Audré wasn’t surprised to read that he was asked about the Malfoys. He replied to it with utmost dignity, saying he didn’t know their current whereabouts. The press then _pressed_ him about Draco, enquiring if he has fled Britain, and was planning to raise a Dark Army and return home to defeat the Ministry. To that question, Mr. Greengrass only said, he knew his son-in-law well and that he did not make the same mistake twice.

Audré finished reading the report and threw the newspaper aside. If there was an award on yellow-journalism, the _Daily Prophet_ should be its proud receiver. She has seen many vile newspapers but there was none like this one.

Audré finished her tea and poured herself another cup. Now that the topic of the Greengrass’s has been brought up she wondered how she’d deal with Narcissa. Her sister-in-law was waiting like a hawk for them to return to France, to learn, in depth, about Adrian, especially about his mother. Although Audré has kept her adequately informed of their trip and earned her trust, she wondered what Narcissa would do if she ever learned the truth about her son. Draco didn’t seem particularly interested to let this piece of information reach Narcissa’s delicate ears. Why? What did he fear? Punishment? Retribution? Or penalty? Would Narcissa ask him to marry Jean, to give the Malfoy heir legitimacy?

Clock ticked on. Audré finished her second cup of tea and placed the empty vessel on the table. The situation was pretty sensitive, something Draco was failing to perceive. All he was seeing was Adrian. But there was so much more to this problem.

For a split second, Audré wondered what she would have done if it was Julian and not Draco. The mere thought was unnerving. And even more so, if a child was involved in it. There was no mother in the world who would want their sons to be rapists, but it was also true that different people reacted differently. Most would stand up for their sons, and blame the crime on the survivors; a few would take the opposite side and stand up for the tortured woman. This was _the_ world, this was _the_ reality. In theory, women were supposed to be each other’s friends and confidants, but in reality they were each other’s biggest contenders.   

Audré sighed and picked up _The Prophet_ again. The only thing interesting about that trash-talking report was Mr. Greengrass. She had met his wife, last night, when she visited the Malfoy Manor graveyard. Like the Manor, it, too, was one of those very few places that she had never wanted to set her foot. But the little trip has come as a big experience.

Audré kept staring at the photo and was soon lost in thoughts:

_The graveyard, Audré noticed as soon as she stepped in, was more silent than the graves it contained. She lit her wand and tried to listen to the eerie silence. No, nothing. There was no sound; even crickets seemed to have abandoned the place in an unknown fear; there were no rickets, to give her a haunting company. Audré knew where Draco was headed to: the Manor library, where they kept the valuable dark staff. She was fine with it. She’d give him a head start with the memories and catch up with him when he wasn’t expecting her at all._

_Holding the wand high, to penetrate the dense and pressing darkness as much as possible, Audré started walking down the leaf-strewn path. It wound before her like a thin, dirty ribbon, bordered by trees whose heads and branches she didn’t know where reached. Hither and thither, interspersed between trees, were tombstones. They seem to be the only things that were not dark and black. Under the soft glow of the yellow half moon, Audré read a few familiar names._

_Lucius Malfoy…_

_Abraxas Malfoy…_

_Medusa Malfoy…_

_Audré crossed them, not sparing a second glance, and continued walking. The one she was looking for must be close, if they had buried her here, and not in Genoa. She walked for another minute, taking care to not stumble on the stray roots and break her neck to become one of the new inhabitants of this graveyard. She found it after a minute’s walk. It was relatively easy to find._

_Audré turned right and stood before the tombstone. While all the other tombstones on her way here were made of bright white marble, this was made of pearly white ones. What an irony! Audré didn’t know what else to call it. Pearly white marble for the daughter of a pearl trader, for Rhodope Malfoy, whose portrait features pearls, the forgotten Malfoy bride who stopped deaths of innocents with her death._

_Audré glanced at her damned and dead mother-in-law’s tomb. With a pointed tip like an impaler, Medusa Malfoy’s tombstone was threatening to punish even the Gods. It was strange. Audré was haunted by the ghost of the past that concerned this woman, Medusa, but tonight, as she stood before Rhodope’s grave, she hardly felt anything. No frights, no nervous twitching, no nothing. Was it because the dead could do nothing from their graves?_

_Audré returned her gaze to the point of interest: Rhodope’s grave. Even in the darkness, she could see that it looked pretty neglected, the ones that she had passed on her way to it, looked well taken care of. Only the pearly marbles seemed timeless, timeless like the innocence of the woman who was sleeping under it, for an eternity._

_Audré conjured a candle, lit it and sat down before the tomb. She has sat before graves many times before: her mother’s, her father’s, her husband’s. But did she ever feel the way she felt now? No._

_Out of all women who were ever blessed to be a Malfoy bride, including herself, Audré felt for Rhodope the most. It was strange how most women associated happiness with wealth, expensive clothes, jewelries and an aristocratic husband’s surname. Mrs. Malfoy? An impressive surname and introduction indeed. Madame Malfoy? How charming did it sound to the ears!_

_Audré was from a wealthy family. All her life she has asked just one question. Exactly how much money did a human being need to live? One million? Ten million? A Hundred million? What about peace of mind? What about pursuing one’s dreams? What about freedom to choose the good over the evil? Didn’t they matter at all? Or were they all valueless before money?_

_Audré sighed sadly. Rhodope’s story was a true testimony that wealth and a possessive husband wasn’t everything. She was the living and now dead example of how a silk and satin clad lady could live a more miserable life than a peasant woman in rags. But justice wasn’t all too cruel! It was true that Rhodope’s dreams were once crushed and strangled to death. But now they have found their way into the capable, little and the most unexpected of hands. Adrian._

_How long Audré had sat there, before Rhodope’s grave, silent and sad, she didn’t know. It was the voice of a woman who broke her musings._

_“Who are you?”_

_For a split second Audré thought that the question was coming from the grave; Rhodope had greeted her in the similar fashion back at Morpheus’s old room. But that wasn’t possible. Graves didn’t talk, she shook her head and tried to reason herself. Then the question came again, this time, louder._

_“Who are you?”_

_Audré turned her head and looked over her left shoulder. The outline of a woman in black came into view. By the looks of it, she was Audré’s age, but with a slightly haughty features and strawberry blonde hair which were only beginning to grey. The tip of her wand was alight too, only they seemed threatening to Audré._

_“Who are you?” She enquired for the third time, her tone now louder than ever and shrilly demanding, “What are you doing here?”_

_“I am…” Audré stood up slowly and confidently, making it clear that the stranger was not intimidating her in manner, “…a family friend to the Malfoys. And you might be…”_

_“Family friend? What kind of family friend?” the lady didn’t care to answer Audré’s question and demanded like an ox who had been whipped._

_“My grandfather and Draco’s great-grandmother, Rhodope, were brother and sister.” Audré didn’t know why but she felt this way it was better, “I came all the way from Genoa, to visit her grave.”_

_“Oh!” the woman suddenly seemed to have lost all her interest in Audré, so disappointed was her tone. She lowered her wand, although it was still alight, “I am…” she erected her spine in a dignified manner that reminded Audré strongly of an illiterate man asked to stand straight to take the first photograph of his life, “Draco’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Cassiopeia Greengrass.”_

_“Piacere di conoscerla, Signora.” Audré greeted in superb Italian and offered Mrs. Greengrass a hand. It was such a pleasant surprise. She was wishing to learn more about the Greengrasses. And look at the irony of it! Out all places in this world, they have chosen to run into each other in a graveyard? Interesting!_

_“Sorry?” Mrs. Greengrass shook hands with Audré, looking confused and cold._

_“It means, ‘pleased to meet you, Madame.’ in Italian.” Audré explained._

_“Oh yes. Same here.” Mrs. Greengrass said indifferently, “So, tell me, is Narcissa in Italy?” she almost demanded._

_Audré had to admit that she was astonished. Didn’t the Greengrasses know their co-in-law’s current whereabouts? Even more interesting! As far as she knew Narcissa and Mrs. Greengrass were friends, though the latter’s husband was not a follower of Lord Voldemort. Then how come she didn’t know that Narcissa was in France?_

_“She was in Italy.” Audré replied calmly, using a past tense, “For two weeks. We met in Venice. I told her that I wanted to visit Mamy Rhodope’s grave. So she sent me here, with her son.”_

_“I see!” Mrs. Greengrass’s expression hardened, “Killed my innocent daughter and now she’s off for a world tour! Bloody bitch!”_

_“Excuse me!” Audré stared._

_“Tell you what, if you have a daughter,” Mrs. Greengrass’s tongue was venomous than a forked snake’s, “keep her out the Malfoy’s reach. They’ll kill her if they thought she was useless.”_

_“Kill her?” Audré didn’t have to act this time to show her shock._

_“Yes, kill her!” Mrs. Greengrass declared so forcefully that it almost threw Audré back, “This Narcissa, don’t go after her looks and sweet words! She is pure evil, like her husband was.”_

_Audré agreed with Mrs. Greengrass, but only on the last part of the statement. Lucius was pure evil, she knew that but she wouldn’t say the same about Narcissa._

_“We married off our daughter, Astoria, to this family.” Mrs. Greengrass continued, chewing every word as though they were all a piece of the damned Narcissa, “She was very young, just seventeen. From the beginning, I wasn’t in favour of this marriage, nor was my husband. He is the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement now, you must have heard of him, Ebenezer Greengrass is his name. But Narcissa persuaded us like a leech after blood, told me that she was looking for a bride with proper Wizarding pride. Daphne, my older daughter, was Draco’s classmate, but she was already engaged. So she asked for Astoria’s hand. She said she’d look after her, that Astoria’d be well taken care of inside the family. She told me a sad story about her mother-in-law, Medusa or whatever her cursed name was, and how she was abused by her. We were friends! Her story touched me. I became sympathetic and out of goodness of my heart, accepted her proposal. That was the biggest mistake of my life!” She cried bitterly and took a deep breath._

_Clouds, Audré heard, were letting out low rumbles. It might rain soon. But nothing was heavier than the words that were being pelted at her by Mrs. Greengrass._

_“She killed her!” Cassiopeia cried in agony, “Narcissa killed my daughter, my sweet little Astoria! Why? Because she couldn’t give them a healthy heir! As though my daughter was a breeding machine!”_

_“But…but…” Audré found her throat quite dry from the horrifying revelations, “…Draco mourns her death. I have seen it! How could he let his mother kill her?”_

_“Draco doesn’t know the filthy secrets of Narcissa’s incestuous family.” Mrs. Greengrass spat, looking cross and sullen, “It’s a shame! The way they married!”_

_“What do you mean?” Audré didn’t know why this woman was trying to poison her against the Malfoys, particularly against Narcissa._

_“Don’t ask me. Ask her.” Mrs. Greengrass seemed to have overcome her emotion as suddenly as it had come. She looked cold and arrogant once again. “Anyways, Madame, signora, whatever you are, tell Narcissa, that her karma would never let her rest in peace. No matter where she hides, she’d have to pay for her crime!”_

_Mrs. Greengrass left as abruptly as she had come. Audré stood there, transfixed, until she remembered that she had to confront Draco about Adrian and Jean._

The sound of a thunder crashing brought Audré back to reality. Its strong resonance rattled the windows. She shook her head and focused her gaze: the photo of Mr. Greengrass talking to the press came into view. Now that she came to think about it, there were so many broken ends, so many inconsistencies in the manner Astoria and her sons have died that it seemed almost a crime that one could ignore them and go on to live their lives normally. Besides, Cassiopeia’s words about Narcissa’s _incestuous_ family have shaken her. Incest and incestuous: these words were not baby’s toy to throw around so boldly, so wildly. One must have adequate knowledge on the matter before accusing someone of it. Otherwise they were simply ignorant and idiots.

Someone knocked on the door and broke her musings for the second time. Draco, at last. Audré placed _The Prophet_ on the table before, facing the front page down.

“Come in.” She bade calmly.

The door opened but in marched not her nephew but a hotel staff, carrying what looked like a very heavy brown paper wrapped package.

“Good Morrr…ning, Madaa…me.” The man greeted Audré with difficulty, trying to balance the heavy package. He placed it on the sofa across her and let out a breath of relief, “This came in from Malfoy Manor, around four o’ clock this morning.” He showed her the package. We thought you might be asleep at that time and didn’t deliver it immediately.”

“Merci. That’s very thoughtful.” Audré thanked the man and handed him half a crown écu, equivalent to twelve British galleons, as a tip. The man left, looking very pleased.

Audré eyed the package before leaving her seat. Malfoy Manor? Four o’ clock in the morning? There was no doubt as to who the eccentric sender could be. Draco. But why four o’ clock?

Audré stood before the propped package for a while and wondered what it would be. If she knew Malfoy Manor, which she did, she shouldn’t be touching any part of this until Draco explained to her, exactly, what his motive was. But…

Audré’s stream of thoughts broke when a sound reached her ears. It was like a very badly tuned radio: faint and indistinct. She strained her ears. Was it a woman’s voice?

“GE…T…ME…OUT….”

Audré didn’t let the sentence to complete. Not caring to use her wand, she tore open the brown parchment wrappings with bare hands and revealed whatever was inside.

“HELP! HELP! GET ME OUT OF HERE! PLEASE!”

Audré’s jaw dropped when she saw a wild looking Rhodope Malfoy was shaking the frame of her portrait as though they were prison bars. She was crying and screaming, her hair askew, her cheeks tear-stricken and her pearl necklace loosened and dangling around her neck like a hanging rope. She looked positively terrified.

“I CAN’T BREATHE! I CAN’T BREATHE! GET ME OUT OF HERE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” She cried, not noticing that the wrappings have been torn already.

“Mamy?” Audré sat before the portrait, not knowing what to do to calm the distressed dead lady. Was this the idea of a fun for Draco? Imprisoning a long dead woman as though she was a beast in a cage? Audré was usually a cool woman and but this mistreatment sent hot blood to her brain. How dare Draco? How - dare - he?

“DON’T GIVE ME TO HIM! DON’T GIVE ME TO HIM! HE’LL RAPE ME! HE’LL RAPE ME!” Rhodope was still screaming. Her plea was so alive that one might think it was a real woman, not a portrait.

“Mamy, Mamy!” Audré called her, “Nonna!” She grabbed the sides of the portrait and shook it hard, trying to capture Rhodope’s attention, “Nonna, look it’s me! Audré!”

“Nonna!” It was the Italian word for Mamy (Grandma) that finally reached Rhodope’s ears. She looked around wildly, as though expecting someone to appear inside her portrait, “Audré!” she let out a cry, finally noticing her, “Is that you?”

“Yes, Nonna, it’s me!” Audré replied calmly, but she could feel blood pounding in her ears. If this was how Draco treated his great-grandmother, there was no doubt in her mind as to how he could have treated Jean Granger. It was a miracle that he didn’t killed her after the rape.

“Audré! Audré…” Rhodope dissolved in tears, looking like a timid little girl who had lost her mother in a crowd and has just been returned to her. Audré was sure if she was alive, she’d have crushed in her arms and sobbed hard, “Draco…Draco…he…” she couldn’t finish.

“Nonna!” Audré was on the verge of avenging Draco for what he has done to Rhodope, “Nonna, cool down! Cool down, dear!”

“He’s mad! He’s a co…mple…te mad! Just like my…husband w…as!” Rhodope continued crying, “Stay away…from him…Audré…stay away from…him…”

“Okay, Nonna! Okay! I’ll! I’ll stay away from him!” Audré assured her. She felt so helpless! This woman might be a portrait but she had been through a nightmare, trapped inside those brown parchment wrappings and the uncertainly that she was going to be handed to Actaeus. If only she could give her some water? But that’d spoil the painting and she’d be gone, forever. “Nonna, listen, listen to me. I want to help you. I want to make you feel better. Is there any way I can do that?”

Rhodope exhaled deeply and hiccupped, her bloodshot eyes finally finding Audré’s cool blue ones, “Just don’t hand me to him.” She almost pleaded.

“I won’t.” Audré stated solemnly. “Anything else?”

“Stay away from Draco.” Rhodope didn’t seem much concerned about her wellbeing and repeated her earlier warning.

“Staying away from him is not possible, Nonna.” Audré told her the truth, “A lot is on line. But I promise to be careful.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Audré tried to assure Rhodope that she was not a damsel in distress and nor was she like that, ever.

A minute later, Rhodope sighed and wiped her tears, “You called me Nonna. I liked it.” She said, smiling wearily, “No one ever called me that. Not even Morpheus.”

“What did he call you then?” Audré asked conversationally, trying to divert Rhodope’s mind to some pleasant topic.

“Mamy.” Rhodope replied simply, “In fact, he was the only one who ever used that word for me. He was the only one who cared.”

“That’s nice.” Audré realized that the only way to normalize Rhodope was to let her keep talking about things and people she loved, “But I think Nonna is better. It sounds like an old Italian woman who is very cute and can cook the most delicious dishes in the world.”

Rhodope laughed and Audré noticed that she was starting to appear almost like her original portrait self. That meant her trick was working well.

“My Nonna, my father’s mother, could make wonderful pignoli cookies.” She reminisced, “You know pignoli?”

“I don’t know.” Audré confessed.

“Pine nuts!” Rhodope looked positively delighted and with that, her pearl necklace was mended, “Pignoli cookies are pine nut cokkies. My Nonna was from Sicily. Pignoli cookies are traditional there. She’d make them for us, especially for me, because I was her favourite. She was a wise woman; saw what Actaeus really was.” Her smile faltered, “She even tried to stop my marriage but couldn’t.” She finished with a hollow sigh.

There was a long silence during which no one spoke. Audré sat on the floor before the portrait and waited for Rhodope to break it.

“Do you know why he did this?” She asked, looking thoughtful.

“I can guess.” Audré replied truthfully, understanding who she meant by ‘he’, “He wants to impress me.”

“Impress _you_?” Rhodope repeated, her tone was slightly incredulous.

Audré understood what Rhodope was implying to: she was none other than Morpheus Malfoy’s wife. For a split second, she wondered if she should explain it to her.

“He must be in great need of you to do that.” Rhodope remarked quietly after a while, “I’m the first portrait to leave Malfoy Manor since its establishment. Actaeus used to say, _‘It’s a one way journey. You could go in but couldn’t leave._ ’.”

“In that case, we must thank Draco, Nonna.” Audré said pleasantly, trying to make best of the situation, “He is has broken a long tended family traditions.”

“He doesn’t care about them much.” Rhodope said carelessly, “At least not to the point his father did. But I can tell you two things, Audré. First, whatever he is after, is not going to be as easy a prey as I was. You are standing on his way.”

“ _I_ am the way.” Audré said simply. She had to admit Rhodope was a pretty intelligent portrait. She must have been so when she was alive.

“And second, it’s a boy.” Rhodope’s next words threw Audré off guard. It was not a query, it was a statement.

“How do you know?” She asked her, marveled.

“If you knew the Malfoys as well as I do,” Rhodope sighed, “you’d know that this type of desperation and madness can be associated with one thing: a male heir. There is nothing, _nothing_ they wouldn’t do to have their bloodline unbroken. I’ll tell you in details, Audré, but not today.” She yawned, “I’m feeling tired now. I am happy, but tired.”

“Take some rest, Nonna.” Audré said kindly. She removed the rest of the brown parchment wrappings, and had the heavy portrait levitated and carried to her bed chamber, where she propped it on a couch. Rhodope nodded and with a nice smile, disappeared.

Audré stared at the empty canvas.

Now she was eagerly waiting for Draco to appear.

•••••

Half of the Wednesday morning was over but at Gringotts Hermione hasn’t gone through half of the day’s work. A small pile of objects lay on her work table. They needed her final evaluation, but Hermione stood by the window, beyond which, it rained.

Since last night an unknown fear has gripped her heart. Those two cracks, that appeared on the mirror and the windowpane, mysteriously, has started it. Fearful, she has spent half the night sleepless and sitting by Adrian as he slept peacefully. Around the morning, she had dozed off and woke up after a horrific dream about Draco Malfoy.

It felt as though she has been, by some connection, returned to the old prison of nightmare she had tried so desperately to escape from. Hermione didn’t know that a fear like this could exist, that could incapacitate one as active and strong as her; a fear like Devil’s Snare; the more she tried to get rid of it, the more its tentacles tightened over her heart.

Hermione was a logical person. Fear was a logical feeling but associating everyone and everything to it, wasn’t logical at all. That was hysteria; that was phobia. And it was disturbing her because she had no mental peace and couldn’t concentrate on her works, which in turn was becoming frustrating.

It was raining in Paris. Sun was hidden behind a thick layer of grey clouds. The day was so gloomy that on midday, it looked like early dawn. Hermione had thought that the bad days of her life were finally over. She and Adrian, both, were going to be happy. But now it felt as though it was all a delusion. Soon all her happiness would be engulfed by clouds as dark as today’s.

Hermione didn’t like to ponder on one thing for very long. It simply burned her energy. This couldn’t go on indefinitely. She needed to face her fears, or at least reason them. She took a deep decisive breath, went to her work table and forced herself to focus on all the curse broken objects.

Lunch hour came and went. As always Claudia, the intern, came and left, reproaching Hermione for her lack of attention to herself. She ignored it and continued working on the curse broken objects. A gold skull. A diamond tiara. A chalice studded with rubies. A small ornamented two-edged knife. A set of silver spoons and forks. A pair of sapphire encrusted hand gloves. A gold locket encasing a lock of golden hair. One by one she checked them all, strengthened the protective charms where they were inadequate and placed her Final Seal of Evaluation on them. Now the goblins would return these to their respective owners.

Hermione cleared the work surface and returned to her office. Lab work was over, at least for today. But there was still days to come: tomorrow, day after tomorrow, the day after that and on and on and on. Was she going to go on like this? Suppressing her unknown fear and dragging on with her work? Would that be good for her? Curse Breaking wasn’t her profession any more. It has become her passion. She was getting better at it, day by day.

On her office desk, Hermione found a memo addressed to her. She picked it up and recognized the writing as Alexis’s. Wondering what it was she opened it immediately and read:

_Jean, sorry to disturb you. Please don’t take it personally, but I’m taking Adrian to his Paedi-Healer’s appointment today. He’ll attend Monsieur Monette’s class after that and we hope to return home by four o’ clock._

_Hope you are not having a hard day, Alexis._

It was then that Hermione remembered she has completely forgotten her son’s monthly appointment with their child physician. To a mother’s relief, Adrian has always been a very healthy boy; he hardly ever caught cold or been ill for even a day. But to be extra careful, Hermione took him for a monthly check up on the third Wednesdays. Adrian also liked his physician. Paedi-Healer Madame Evangelia Papadouris was a motherly witch. She was friendly and was a great admirer of Adrian’s drawings. Most children liked her.

Hermione quickly checked the time. It was past three o’ clock in the afternoon. The appointment was usually scheduled at one o’ clock. She has missed it, she has forgotten all about it. Alexis usually returned home for a hasty lunch and seeing that she hasn’t turned up, must have taken up the responsibility to take Adrian for his check up.

Hermione slumped on her seat and buried her face in her hands, the memo still clutched there.  Oh Merlin! Oh Merlin! In all these years, this has never happened with her! No matter how busy she was, how stressed she was, she never forgot her son’s monthly appointment. Ever! Hermione Granger was never forgetful. What was wrong with her?

Hermione started sobbing. She didn’t mind Alexis taking Adrian for the checkup; that he could do, freely. But she? She felt like a failed mother. She felt like a woman who was desperately clutching to her past, and becoming more and more hysteric about it. Today she has forgotten her son’s monthly appointment. Tomorrow she’d forget his birthday. Day after tomorrow she’d make a terrible mistake and someone would die from an incompletely removed cursed object! She was going to fail! She was going to fail in everything! Her life! Her son! Her career! Everything!

It was always the thought of failing that gave Hermione a strange strength. No! She wasn’t going to fail! She was _not_ going to fail! She has never failed. She has fought! She _has_ fought! She would fight again. She would fight for her son. She would fight for their happy future. She wouldn’t let this illogical fear take away what’s her most precious, what was her most hard earned!

Hermione wiped her tears, blew her nose and stood up. She would reach the root of what was causing this.

Geccemp, the Head Goblin, was at his office when Hermione appeared there, half an hour later. She was carrying a box and wanted his opinion on the content.

“Bonjour, sir.” Hermione knocked on the door and peeped in.

Geccemp was in his work shop, carving something with great concentration. To Hermione’s greeting he only nodded, asking her to enter.

Hermione slipped in, closed the heavy ornate door behind her and walked straight to her boss’s work shop.

“I thought you have left, Jean.” Geccemp said and picked up a pair of tweezers. He was working on an egg shaped salt dispenser, only it was studded with minuscule pearls and diamonds.

“Left?” Hermione repeated, astonished.

“Why?” Geccemp picked up a mustard size pink pearl and held it before his beady black eyes, scrutinizing it, “Isn’t today the third Wednesday of August?”

Hermione stared. Even her boss remembered Adrian’s appointment and she has forgotten it? What a shame!

“Well…I…” She fumbled for a feasible explanation. It felt like trying to lie before Professor Snape, because she knew he knew she knew it.

“If you are busy sir, I’ll come later.” She said, trying to side track the topic.

“You are disturbed, Jean.” Geccemp said solemnly, throwing her off guard, “Sit. I’m almost done for today.” He motioned her to his desk.

Hermione did as she was told. It would be tremendously rude if she left now. Besides, trying to trick a goblin with lies about herself was a vain attempt. Goblins, themselves, were masters of trickery.

“So….” Geccemp wrapped up his work and after washing his hands, came to sit behind his desk, “…what’s it?”

Hermione didn’t know where to begin. Jacob Jordeans? Her nightmares? Draco Malfoy? Or…

“Sir,” She placed the box she had brought with her, “can you please tell me what this is?”

Silent, Geccemp pulled the box towards him. He opened it and had a glance inside, “Aureus.” He said and closed the lid.

“My…uhhh…” Hermione bit her lip. She had no doubts on Geccemp’s abilities to differentiate different types of gold. Only, now that it’s been twice confirmed she was having difficulty articulating her real concern, “Adrian won that in a Drawing Competition.” She motioned at the box calmly.

One of Geccemp’s bushy and shrp eyebrows shot up. “Your son _won_ this in a _Drawing_ competition?”

Hermione nodded, not feeling like explaining the whole thing.

“Strange…” Frowning, Geccemp opened the box again and took out of one of the three shining gold bars. This time he examined it for full five minutes. Hermione held her breath.

“Roman gold. British bars.” He said at last, “Look here, Jean.” He drew her attention to the writing on the bar. There was a five digit number followed by a strange runic symbol that Hermione couldn’t recognize. “In goblin tongue, that stands for lion. You know hieroglyphics?”

Hermione nodded. For her Curse Breaking career, she has learned that ancient Egyptian language. In fact, she was better at it than Bill.

“Wizards!” Geccemp sighed contemptuously, “They take credit for all of _our_ works. They say hieroglyphics is their invention. No, Madame, that credit does to us. We, goblins, invented the hieroglyphics.” He held up a proud, long finger, “We did it to protect the treasure hidden in those pyramids. But thousands of years later, wizards broke the code and _robbed_ those sacred graves. Now they claim it was their invention all along.” He curled his black lips in distaste, “So tell me now, Jean, how _we_ write lion in hieroglyphics?”

“Just draw a reclining sphinx.” Hermione replied calmly, not going into the ever raging goblin-wizard ownership battle, “That’s the ideogram for a lion.”

“Excellent!” Geccemp cheered, his beady black eyes lighting up, “Every goblin run mint has its own national symbol. British mints use lion. French mints, that means we, use bumblebee. Italian mints use wolf. Canadian mints use reindeer. Egyptian mints use eagle. Japanese mints uses pheasant. The list goes on and on. This symbol you see here,” he pushed the bar to Hermione for her to examine, “means lion and lion stands for British mint. After wizards code broke our language we modified it. This one you see here is a hiero _goblics lion_.” He tapped on the symbol.

If it were a different scenario Hermione would have immensely enjoyed what she has learned today. Geccemp was not a miser when it came to teaching. She might even have asked for a reference book, to study in depth, all about mints and their symbols. But for now, that was a conversation for another time.

“You want to track it.” Geccemp broke the silence and finished her unspoken agony.

Hermione nodded again. “But the Head Goblin at Belgian Gringotts said that isn’t possible.” She said ruefully.

“Really?” Geccemp’s other bushy eyebrow went up, as though he was half astonished and half displeased, “Technically, he’s right. Golds change so many hands that it almost impossible to trace their course. But…” he paused, “ _Aureus_ isn’t your everyday normal gold. It’s special, passed from a father to his firstborn…”

“You mean you can help trace it, sir?” Hermione didn’t let Geccemp finish the rest of that horrific sentence.

“Of course, I can.” Geccemp nodded solemnly, “You see this five digit number? That’s the bar’s identification number and it’s unique. Like finger prints, no two gold bars made by _goblin mints_ have the same number. If they have, understand that it’s a fake gold bar. There are criminal gangs who melt gold bars, carve a fake number on it and increase the number using _Gemenio_. But they get caught while trying to pass it because at Gringotts, we record serial numbers of every gold bars that enter or leave our our vaults.” He said with a very satisfied smirk, “So, what I’ll do here is I’ll send this number to every Gringotts in the world and ask them to run it against their records, to see where it came from.”

“But that’s a lot of trouble!” Hermione wasn’t expecting that the procedure was such a hassle, “Leave it, sir.”

“Of course not.” Geccemp waved her objection aside, “You have stirred my curiosity, Jean. I never knew that something as sensitive as _Aureus_ could be used as prize money. Now I have to know how that happened. There is no purer gold than _Aureus_. Are wizards after our ancient knowledge of refining gold? Are they trying to steal it?” He tapped on the pointed chin thoughtfully, as his cunning eyes blazed up.

Hermione had thought talking to Geccemp would relieve her. Now she felt worse, not for her wizard brother kind, but for her son. She left the box in her boss’s possession and returned to her office.

Hermione closed the office door and stood leaning against it for a very long time. It was still raining outside. She wanted to return home and spend the entire evening with Adrian, to make up for missing the appointment. But something was nagging her. It wouldn’t go until she went out and had it checked.

As it always was the case, whenever Hermione needed an answer she went to library. France’s National Library, _Bibliothèque nationale de France,_ had a vast wing run by the Ministry of Magic, for the French Wizarding population. It was situated in Rue de Richelieu. If she left office now, she might get a few hours to work before the library closed at eight o’ clock.

Once upon a time Rue de Richelieu was called the Bond Street of Paris. It housed some of Paris’s finest hotels, hosiers, clock-makers, and jewelers. Then came the era of Baron Haussmann; he demolished most of the narrow streets and redefined Paris with grand boulevards. Nowadays, the street struggled to maintain its former glory. There were buildings on either side of the street. They were made of stone and still very lofty. On one of those was housed _Bibliothèque de Sorcellerie de France,_ The Wizarding Library of France.

The Magical Wing of National Library of France was directly connected to Ministry of Magic and Gringotts. Five minutes past five o’ clock in the evening, Hermione stepped out of a Floo fireplace and dusted her robes. Maybe because it has been a rainy day since morning, there were not many visitors. The reader’s room was mostly empty except for two old wizards. One of them was examining a scroll. The other was holding up a map against light and scanning it with narrowed eyes.

Hermione started straight to the chief librarian’s office. She was well known here. The library assistants knew her, the cataloguer knew her. She received a monthly newsletter from them, informing her about the new arrival of books and reading materials.

Hermione always had a queer feeling when she stood before the Chief Librarian’s office door. It brought bitter memories back: that incident when was four monthes pregnant. She could never forget it. It still haunted her. Still.

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Times have changed, Hermione, times have changed. You are not a nobody anymore. No one could victimize her again. No one could take her as a frail woman and take advantage of it. No, they couldn’t.

Solemnly, Hermione held up a hand to knock. But the door swung open before her knuckles could touch the polished mahogany. 

“Why care to knock Madame Curse Breaker?” The chief librarian, Monsieur Calepeen, cried. He was a short man with beady black, cunning eyes and pointed ears. Although Hermione never enquired it lest it looked rude, she suspected he had goblin blood in his veins.

“I have told you Madame Jean, you can come in any time!” Monsieur Calepeen widened the gap and ushered her in.

“You are very kind, Monsieur.” Hermione courtesied. They walked to the librarian’s desk and he drew her a seat. “Merci.” Hermione accepted it with a polite smile.

“I assume it’s something very urgent.” Monsieur Calepeen returned to his seat behind the desk and went straight to business. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come here in this weather.” He indicated at the storm that raged outside.

Hermione has come to know the Chief Librarian for four years now, since she joined Gringotts and she hasn’t met a man more knowledgeable on books and references. “Yes, it’s urgent.” She cleared her throat, “Can you tell me where I can find some information on Madame Chombrun…”she paused, “…Malfoy?”

“Madame Chombrun Malfoy?” Monsieur Calepeen repeated, frowning, as though trying to grasp something, “Ooohhh! You mean Madame Audré Chombrun Malfoy?”

“Yes, that’s her.” Hermione nodded calmly. Her heartbeat was starting to quicken.

“Of course, I can!” Monsieur Calepeen declared happily, “There is an entire floor dedicated to ‘Who’s Who’. We have catalogued every notable wizards and witch of the time. Nicolas Flamel, Nostradamus, Albus Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Lord Vol…” He stopped abruptly and gave a sweet smile, revealing his very sharp and white teeth, “We’ve been doing that for almost five centuries, since this library was established.”

“That’s great!” Hermione said appreciatively and waited. Monsieur Calepeen rang a bell; the door opened and in marched a library assistant. “Bring Madame Chombrun Malfoy’s ‘Who’s Who’ volume.” He bade sharply and sat back. The assistant nodded and left.

“You will not say no to some tea, would you?” Monsieur Calepeen was back on his charming manners. He left his seat and went to the fireplace where a copper kettle hang above low flame, “So, Madame Jean, what’s it this time? Something confidential?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. Monsieur Geccemp gave me a ring to Curse Break. He said it belongs to someone called Madame Audré Chombrun Malfoy. I thought I should know a bit about her before proceeding with her ring. In my job, every detail matters.”

“Of course, of course! Very professional!” Monsieur Calepeen beamed, and poured them each a cup of tea, “Geccemp and I grew up together. I know him very well. He has a knack for choosing the best person in the field. Mark my words, Madame Jean,” the chief librarian settled on his seat, “one day you are going to be a legend, and we will have a ‘Who’s Who’ volume on you.”

Hermione cleared her throat. To have a ‘Who’s Who’ volume upon her name would definitely be a great honour, but that was not her goal. She worked hard every day God made; it gave her a sense of fulfillment and pleasure of overcoming challenges.

They drank tea and by the time it was over, the assistant returned carrying a tome.

“Here you are!” Monsieur Calepeen motioned the assistant to hand it to Hermione, “Madame Audré Chombrun Malfoy.”

Hermione thanked the assistant, accepted the tome and placed it carefully on the desk. It wasn’t very thick, or very heavy. Did that mean there wasn’t much on Audré Chombrun Malfoy?

The office has become silent. Monsieur Calepeen was sensible enough to not disturb her. He didn’t speak a word and watched her as she worked.

Hermione opened the tome. The first two pages were blank. The third page had photograph of a young woman. It was a semi-profile view, as though she was looking away from the camera. Hermione assessed in this photo the lady couldn’t be older than twenty-five. Was this Audré Chombrun Malfoy?

“It’s very hard to find a decent photo of Madame Chombrun Malfoy.” Monsieur Calepeen interjected quietly, sounding slightly annoyed, “She avoids Press. The Press also doesn’t like her much.”

Hermione stared at the photo. Where has she seen that face? She has, of course, he has. She has seen those eyes, and that mild smile! She has seen it somewhere before? Where? Where? Brussels?

Confused, Hermione turned to the next page. This one had a concise biography on Madame Chombrun Malfoy. It wasn’t much. She was born under Pisces, on 25th February, 1955. She was the only daughter of René Chombrun, who was a celebrated lawyer and Josée Laval, an herbalist and potioneer. When Madame Audré was ten her mother died from a potion accident. Later she attended Beauxbatons and was one of the few witches of her time to study Law at Sorbonne. At age twenty one, Madame Audré married Morpheus Malfoy, the eldest son of Abraxas and Medusa Malfoy. As a consequence, the Malfoys disowned their son. Morpheus and Audré joined the French Judicial Services, he as a junior judge and she as a lawyer. They also had two children, a son by the name of Julian, who was born on 1978 and a daughter, named Lillian, born in 1981. After her husband’s death in 1994, Madame Audré resigned from her successful career as the first female Attorney General of Wizengamot and went on an early retirement. She currently lives with her children in her father’s château in Courpalay.

Hermione read the entire brief article five times in a row. Something was ringing a bell. Something seemed familiar.  What was it? A name? A date? What _was_ it?

She checked the rest of the tome. It was full of newspaper cuttings on Madame Audré. Monsieur Calepeen was right. The Press indeed didn’t like her at all. Most of the news on her had a tone of sarcasm about them, as though nothing was or could be good about this lawyer who has never lost a case in her life, as though they were not her wins but a conspiracy by her judge husband who had the sentences delivered on her side. Reading them, Hermione was strongly reminded of Rita Skeeter.

“There is a very interesting article on page fifteen, Madame.” Monsieur Calepeen suggested politely. He seemed to enjoy seeing her reading the ‘Who’s Who’.

Hermione turned to page fifteen. This page featured just one paper cutting. The headline read:

_‘Virgin’ goes well only with Olive Oil._

Hermione stared, not knowing how to react to such a peculiar statement. Did Madame Audré say that? She quickly went through the news that followed.

The news was on a hearing at Wizengamot. A council was called there, around ten years ago, to discuss the legitimacy an ancient law which dictated that witches must be virgins before marriage. Half of the council, who were all pureblood wizards, argued for keeping the law. They said it would ensure pureblood witches to remain virtuous. Madame Audré, however, stood up against it. She reasoned that fornication wasn’t entirely a woman’s act. It took two people to commit it: a man and a woman. But the existing law didn’t stop men from committing fornication, which meant it was insufficient and witches were in imminent danger. Therefore the law must be strengthened to ensure both men and women remained virtuous. She ended her argument saying that good upbringing, true love and loyalty could make people good life partners. Otherwise, the word ‘virgin’ would end up only on the bottles of olive oil.

Hermione read the report twice. The Headline suggested Madame Audré was making a feminist remark and the contents said she was merely suggesting what might happen if a one sided law persisted. She checked the rest of the pages and learned that two weeks after the hearing, the Fornication Prevention Law was repelled on the grounds that it was too outdated. Needless to say, the pureblood wizards of the council were outraged at the decision.

Hermione closed the tome. She didn’t believe in astrology but born under Pisces, this Madame Audré was definitely a deep water fish. Everything she did, every word she spoke had a hidden meaning. And she definitely knew how to reach her means.

Hermione had thought the trip to the library would shed some light into the matter; now she was in even more darkness. It was fifteen minutes to eight o’clock. The library would close soon. She, too, needed to return home. Adrian must be waiting for her.

Hermione felt a pang of guilt. Today she has been a horrible mother. First she has forgotten his monthly appointment. Then she has made him wait more than his unfair share, researching on Madame Audré. All because of her fear…all because of her fear for the Malfoys.

Hermione thanked Monsieur Calepeen and apparated back to home. After the day’s heavy raining, a light drizzle was what remained of it. The yard was muddy. In a quick run, Hermione covered the distance to the main door. The moment she opened it and stepped in, the clock started striking issues. It was eight o’ clock.

Hermione didn’t waste a second in the lobby and started for her quarters. Adrian would be there, and since she has been very late, he would be in a damn bad mood; in fact, he had rights to be so. Hermione reached the foot of the staircase and ran up. She was going to have a tough time managing him. What would she do? What would she do? Hermione reached the first landing. Okay, she’d apologize to Adrian and promise that she wouldn’t late again. No, that wouldn’t be enough; she’d take him out tomorrow. No, that wouldn’t be enough either. She’d…ummmm….she’d ask him what he’d like for a present. No, she’d…

Hermione almost jogged into her quarter and to her immense surprise found it empty. There was no Adrian, sitting on the reading table and drawing, his face turned away from her.

“Adrian?” Hermione’s heart missed a beat, thinking about that mysterious crack, “Mama’s home, little rabbit!” She declared in a hollow voice.

No one replied. Where was Adrian? Haven’t they returned home? But Alexis had said that they’d be at home by four and now it was eight. Panic stricken, Hermione checked the bathroom. It, too, was empty. But…but Adrian always spent this hour in their quarter. He liked to draw in quiet.

Hysterical, Hermione ran downstairs. Where was Adrian? Where _was_ Adrian? And why didn’t the Delacours inform her? Oh, yes, the fault was entirely her. She went to library after work. But…they could have sent her a Patronus! Did something happen to…

Hermione couldn’t think anymore. She almost jumped down the last three steps of the stairs and the moment her feet touched the floor, a tender sweet voice reached her ears.

It was Adrian and he was singing. The song was coming from kitchen.

For five solid seconds, Hermione stood frozen on the spot. Then as relief slowly started spreading through her over frayed nerves, she felt her right hand has clutched over her heart and her body has slumped down on the bottom stair. Oh God! Oh Merlin! Adrian was home! He was in the kitchen! Nothing has happened to him!

For a long minute Hermione couldn’t move; she felt emotionally drained, unable to feel anything, even fear. Tired and retired, she sat on the bottom stair, and focused on the pleasant racket that came drifting out of kitchen. Adrian wasn’t just good at drawing; he was very spontaneous at singing and could make up one in a short notice. They were melodious too. Today he was singing something she has recited many many times: the famous English rhyme, ‘Mary had a little lamb’, only here, there was no Mary with a lamb.

Adrian was singing:

_Adrian avait un ciré!_ (Adrian had a yellow raincoat!)

_Ciré jaune, ciré jaune!_ (Yellow Raincoat! Yellow Raincoat!)

_Adrian avait un ciré!_ (Adrian has a yellow raincoat!)

_Qu'Alexis lui avait acheté!_ (Uncle Alexis has bought it for him!)

Even in her current mental state, Hermione couldn’t hold back a laugh. She started laughing and laughed, until she was breathless. The sound must have reached the kitchen because a moment later, Adrian came running out.

“MAMA! YOU CAME!” He declared happily and before Hermione could even stand up, jumped directly into her arms.

“Yes, Mama’s love, Mama came!” Hermione pulled him into a tight embrace and whispered. As though the little boy has brought a divine charm with him, all of her despairs were gone the moment she was in his little, comforting arms. They hugged each other, huddled on the stairs until both were convinced that the other existed. Then the little one broke the tender silence.

“You are late!” He tightened the embrace.

Hermione didn’t utter a single word in argument. She only hugged Adrian, making it speak on her behalf, to tell him that she was sorry. No one spoke for a long time. Their hugs told them how much they have missed each other.

“So Mama’s one and only love,” Hermione cooed, “how was the day? Did you go to Madame Papadouris?”

“I did.” Adrian released her and sat on her lap, none caring much to be comfortable as long as they were with each other, “Uncle Alexis took me.”

“That’s great!” It was then that Hermione noticed Adrian was wearing a yellow raincoat, inside home, “What is this Mama’s love?” She asked him fondly.

“It’s my new _ciré jaune_!” Adrian piped happily, stood up and spun on the spot to give her a three sixty degree view, “Uncle Alexis bought it!”

“Really?” Hermione feigned great astonishement, “That’s so nice of him. But you already have a raincoat, don’t you? That blue one Mama bought you.”

“I do!” Adrian nodded, “But Madame Papadouris said I am taller now! Three inches!” He held up three proud fingers in the air, “So that one is short for me!” He said matter-of-factly, “Three inches!”

“Oh!” Hermione rounded her lips, and noticed that Adrian was wearing a pair of matching yellow galoshes. “Did uncle Alexis buy those, too?” she asked him, pointing at the shoes with her chin.

Adrian grinned and nodded. Hermione shook her head. In yellow raincoat and yellow galoshes, Adrian was looking cuter than a yellow ducking. “Come on my little _yellow_ rabbit!” She offered him a hand, “Help your weak, old Mama on her feet!”

“YOU ARE NOT OLD!” Adrian, as expected, protested violently, grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her with all his might. She, intentionally, didn’t budge. “Come on, help Mama!” She teased him, “You are a man!”

“I’m…trying…” Adrian’s face was red now but he wouldn’t resign so easily. He pulled her and she continued not budging in. They played tug of war for another two minutes. Then Hermione stood up and feigned it was all Adrian’s doing. “Well done, Mama’s love!” She kissed him on cheeks, “Now, let’s go and see what Mamy has for dinner.”

“Okay!” Adrian ran back into the kitchen, still in his yellow raincoat and galoshes. Taking her work robes off, Hermione followed him.

The Delacours were already gathered in the kitchen. Sitting in his window side couch, Gustave was repairing his father’s old clock and humming merrily. From her seat at the table, Apolline was giving him exasperated looks and knitting a pair of little yellow gloves, not doubt for Adrian. Gabrielle was seated beside her mother. She had a mason jar aquarium set on the table; inside two baby Grindylows were fighting over a piece of sea algae. Gabrielle was watching them with great interest. Alexis was deeply immersed in a book titled, ‘Eyewitness to History.’

“I’m home.” Hermione announced.

“About time, Jean! I was beginning to worry.” Gustave checked the clock which showed it was past midnight. Alexis looked up from his book and gave her a smile. She returned it and made a mental note to thank him for Adrian later. Gabrielle looked up from her aquarium and Apolline scanned Hermione from top to bottom.

“You look thin, Jean.” She said disapprovingly, “Skipped the lunch, I reckon?”

“Mother,” Hermione gave her a sweet, apologetic smile, “One doesn’t lose weight for skipping lunch.”

“Most people don’t but you do.” Apolline said dismissively and wrapped up her knitting. Hermione thought better to not argue with her.  She proceeded to help her set the table for dinner when Apolline held up a hand, “No, Jean.” She said solemnly, “Gabrielle and your father will do that.”

Gabrielle left her seat but her father didn’t move a muscle. “Apolline, honey! I’m repairing…” he couldn’t finish. His wife cut in.

“You have been repairing that for last thirty one years.” She said calmly but sternly, “And I have been telling you and telling you: That clock is dead! Let it go! Let it die in peace! Give it to Louvre! Throw it in Seine! Whatever you do just let it rest in peace! But no, you won’t!”

Gabrielle and Hermione exchanged looks. This was another entertaining part of Delacour household, watching Monsieur and Madame Delacour bicker over petty things. Usually, if weather and Madame Delacour’s mood were good, her husband would receive two reprimands daily for losing his new hat, trimming his beard too short and not taking enough care of his bald patch. And if Monsieur Delacour could survive those reprimands, which he very happily did, there was bickering over colour choice of his new red polka dots trousers, the fourth coffee mug he has smashed that week and last but not the least, Gustave Delacour’s late father’s alarm clock which, in Hermione’s opinion, was a clock equivalent of Errol. 

“Edmound, hm?” Hermione stifled a laugh and pointed at the baby Grindylows.

“He thinks they are cute.” Gabrielle nodded and smoothed the table cloth. She too was having a hard time keeping her face straight as her parents bickered in the background. 

“But…Apolline…love…” Gustave was looking like Neville trying to convince Professor McGonagall that he wouldn’t lose the Portrait passwords next time, “I’m almost done… I promise! It’ll work well from now.”

“And what do you think?” Hermione kept talking and under its guise, started setting the dinner table with Gabrielle.  

“I think I like them.” Gabrielle replied, and handed Hermione the plates. “But he’s right. These ones do look funny.”

“Wait till Fleur hears that.” Hermione commented pointedly. She stole a glance at Apolline. Like the baby Grindylows, one of whom was now trying to bite the other’s head off, she too looked closer to do the same with Gustave’s old clock.

“No Monsieur! It’ll not!” The angry half Veela said icily, “And that alarm? It’s worse than a Sneakoscope! Last night it went up and cracked two window panes. Even my maman’s old mirror got shattered! What’ll you say about that?”

Hermione has just started laying the plates when she froze.

“No, it didn’t!” Gustave was clutching the old alarm clock close to his heart, as though fearing it would grow wings and fly away, “Adrian? Come to Papy!”

“Don’t even think about that!” Apolline snatched Adrian and stood before him like a shield, “He’s on my side!” She looked back and gave the little boy a charming smile, “Aren’t you, Mamy’s love?”

“I am!” Adrian looked undecided.

“But Adrian, you are a man!” Gustave cried, “You should be on a man’s side.”

“I’m on your side too.” Adrian looked from his grandma to his grandpa, trying to decide what to do, “Okay, Mamy, forgive great Papy’s clock. For me! Please!” He took her hand and implored.

Apolline became completely normal in a blink, “Anything for my little Adrian!” She picked him up and kissed on his forehead. 

“Papy, promise Mamy.” Adrian received the kiss with dignity and turned to his grandpa, “Your clock will not disturb her. Okay?”

“Okay, okay, I promise!” Gustave held his right hand up in surrender, the left one still secured over the rescued alarm clock, “If my clock disturbs you again, Apolline, honey, I’ll give it a grand funeral and bury it in the garden. Okay, ma petite vénus (my little venus)?”

“Who’s vénus, Mamy?” Adrian asked, his innocent grey eyes round. Apolline turned a deep shade of crimson, set Adrian down and went to the oven, muttering loudly on demerits of marrying a senseless man.

If it were another occasion, Hermione would have resented that the funny bickering was over so early. Today, however, she did not. She laid the rest of the plates and mentally slapped herself for making a mountain of a mole hill. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew about Monsieur Gustave’s defective clock and its alarm that could wake the dead. She should have checked about it before going on a wild goose’s chase. It felt so foolish! She has wasted an entire day on the Malfoys and that too for nothing!

Dinner went well. Today Apolline has made a new dish. Tartiflette. It was a type of casserole made with potato, bacons, crème fraîche and a special cheese called Reblechon. Needless to say Apolline’s cooking was superb (which Gustave kept praising in loud and received critical looks from the cook) and the dish itself was an interesting change of taste. So everyone in the table ate more than they usually did and by the time dinner was almost over, Apolline announced that had her father-in-law, the late Joseph Delacour, not been a very good man, she’d not have much cared about his broken old clock.

Hermione ate in silence. Adrian sat beside her and finished his piece of casserole and salads, happily. He was still in his yellow raincoat and galoshes. For dessert they were served Crème brûlée.

“Oh Jean, I forgot,” Alexis spoke for the first time since Hermione returned home, “Monsieur Monette has an exhibition going on. In Opera House. He said he is featuring one of Adrian’s paintings there.” 

“WOW!” Hermione’s spoon fell on her Crème brûlée and crashed the hard caramel layer on top, but she didn’t care, “Why didn’t you tell Mama that?” She beamed and asked Adrian.

“Because he didn’t know.” Alexis replied on Adrian’s stead, “I was keeping it as a post-dinner surprise. To say before everyone and you.”

“That’s great!” Gabrielle grinned.

“That’s like a real man!” Gustave said pompously.

“Wait till I tell everyone! My Adrian’s work is up for exhibition with Monsieur Monette.” Apolline was tearful.

“What’s exhi…sion…Mama?” Adrian asked Hermione, not understanding what the happy uproar was about.

“It’s not exhision Mama’s love.” Hermione ruffled Adrian’s silvery blond curls affectionately, “It’s ex-hee-bee-tion. Okay?” She correction his pronunciation, “An Exhibition is where artists like Monsieur Monette show their work to people. Now your work has been put to show, too.”

“But I am not Monsieur Monette!” Adrian supplied.

“It doesn’t matter, Mamy’s love.” Apolline wiped her tear and said kindly, “If Monsieur Monette thinks your work can be shown, it definitely can be shown.”

“Okay.” Adrian still looked confused but didn’t protest.

Hermione picked up the spoon and returned to her Crème brûlée. “I have an idea. How about we all go to the exhibition?” She suggested, shoving a spoonful of dessert in her mouth, “Tomorrow?”

“Of course we will!” Gustave slammed on the table and earned a cold stare from his wife.

“Maman, I’ll ask Edmound?” Gabrielle implored her mother.

“And I’ll ask Eva?” Hermione winked teasingly at Gabrielle.

“And I’ll ask Jean.” Alexis interjected with the most solemn demeanor.

Everyone laughed, Hermione looked away and another two minutes of hubbub later, it was settled that tomorrow she and Alexis would finish their works early and return home. Then they’d all go to Monsieur Monetter’s painting exhibition.

Hermione returned to her quarter after dinner, feeling happy and light. Adrian was too excited to go to sleep. Tomorrow he’d get to see lots of great paintings. He was also very reluctant to take off his yellow raincoat and galoshes. He went go to bed, wearing them. It was only when he fell in deep sleep, which was about five minutes in bed, that Hermione managed to take them off.

She tucked the sleeping boy and kissed him on the forehead. Adrian mumbled something about his new _ciré jaune_ and hugged his side pillow. Hermione watched him for a very long time and fell asleep. She didn’t care to check whether the cracks still existed or not.

•••••

Draco watched as the wrought iron gates of his aunt’s Château slowly parted. The car, driven by a uniformed ministry chauffer and carrying them, waited for it to fully open. It started moving as soon as the gap was wide enough to admit the royal blue 1955 luxury station wagon, Renault Manoir.

Draco didn’t know his aunt owned a car. They owned one, of course. It was a 1934 Rolls Royce Phantom II, and like everything the Malfoys owned, was the world’s most expensive car.  His father had bought it for his grandfather Abraxas when he became too old and debilitated to not able to apparate. It was also used for taking Draco to Kings Cross on the start of term and bring him back to their manor during the holidays; Narcissa sometimes visited her rich friends in the car, excusing that apparition and Floo would ruin her new expensive robes. His aunt’s car, however, was a gift from her grandfather on the occasion of her birth.

It’d been a very long day. Draco had started it with a visit to Gringotts and sending one of their goblins, Gobtok, to arrange for a private jet to France. Gobtok had good connections in the Goblin Liaison Office at the Ministry. Draco was sure he’d arrange for a private jet in snap of a finger. But he couldn’t. The storm was pretty strong and no pilot was ready to take off in this condition, no matter how fat the payment was. So around midday, after knocking every private jet owner and even considering putting them under Imperius and dismissing the idea, Draco had returned to Rosings, defeated and downcast.

He had lunch with Audré, who didn’t seem much happy about the way Rhodope Malfoy was delivered to her, but Draco didn’t care. He appeared solemn, polite and apologetic, all of which were genuinely fake display of emotions. Then he took a nap and woke up when Audré shook him to say that the storm was almost over and their International Portkey has arrived. Taking that, they had arrived at Paris just an hour ago. Julian had received them at the Portkey Portal.

Draco took a deep breath of relief. Finally, he was in France. Like Malfoy Manor, Château de la Granger-Bléneau, had wrought iron gates and a driveway that led to the main building. What it didn’t have was high hedges full of hidden snakes. As the car approached the Château was came closer. Now he could see two ladies were standing before it. One was his cousin, Lillian and the other was Narcissa.

Draco cleared his throat. Merlin knew how his mother was going interrogate him about Adrian, especially about the boy’s mother. Julian was sitting in the front seat, beside the chauffer. He and Audré were talking about things in general. Draco stole at glance at Audré. She sensed it and looked at him. Draco drew her attention to Narcissa. Audré followed the direction of his gaze, saw Narcissa and looked back a Draco. She was smiling pleasantly.

“Don’t worry, nephew.” She said, “My mother has taught me to take good care of our guests.”

Draco didn’t know what that meant or what she meant. But he couldn’t ask her to elaborate. Julian was still in the car. He felt trapped. Hopefully, his aunt would keep her promise and not tell his mother anything. In fact, what was there to tell? Whatever has happened has happened. It was over. There was no point on arguing over it. Audré was a wise woman. She surely understood that.

The car came to a halt before one of the two giant fountains. The doors opened themselves and Audré wasn’t fully out when Lillian came running like a little girl and engulfed her into a tight embrace, “Maman! You’re home!”

“I am.” Audré hugged her back, “And I have brought chocolates fer yeh.”

“Fer…yeh?” Lillian released her mother and repeated, “What’s that?”

“It means, ‘for you’.” Audré explained, “I learnt it from a man who makes magnificent rock cakes.”

“Rock cakes?” Lillian’s confusion only increased.

“Yes, rock cakes.” Audré nodded, “I even have the recipe, in case you want to try them for your husband.”

“Husband?” Lillian cried, looking bewildered now.

“Yes, dear.” Audré replied serenely, “I have found just the man for you. He is a dragon trainer.”

“Dragon trainer?” Lillian spluttered, “Maman, something is definitely wrong with you.” She checked Audré’s temperature, looking dead worried, “Come in, come in.” she wrapped an arm around Audré’s and steered her to their Château, “You need a complete check-up. Zilek will fetch Healer Cloutier.”

Draco watched the entire interaction from the car, not caring to get out. Julian was already out and he was laughing silently, watching his sister fuss over his mother. “Cousin,” He bent down and looked at him, “Aren’t you coming out?”

Draco didn’t care to reply. He stepped out, straightened up and smoothed his black suit. His mother’s voice was pretty near now. She’d be here in a moment.

“Where is my son?” Narcissa asked as though Draco was a five year old looking for a diaper, “Draco!” She came and engulfed him into a tight embrace, “My baby!”

Baby! Draco hid a sigh. Thankfully, Julian didn’t laugh this time. He left them alone and followed his mother and sister. The chauffer drove off the car to its shed.

“So…” Narcissa released Draco after two solid minutes of solid hugging, “…how have you…” she stopped mid-sentence and stared at him.

“What’s it?” Draco asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“What’s wrong with you, Draco, my baby?” Narcissa cooed and smoothed Draco’s hair, “You look so ill! And…” She stood back and scanned him from head to foot, “you have definitely gotten thinner.”

“Mother,” Draco decided to take the matter in his hands before it was too late, “I’m fine.”

“But you…” Narcissa would be Molly Weasley before she believed in that statement.

“I just didn’t sleep last night.” Draco elaborated solemnly, “We were supposed to catch the early morning Portkey.”

Narcissa opened her mouth to protest and closed it, presumably deciding not to press the matter. “It’s alright. You eat well and sleep tight tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She wrapped an arm over Draco’s shoulders and kissed on his temple, “I am so happy my son is finally home.”

Draco played a good son and didn’t upset his mother. Tomorrow they’d talk? He hid a snort. If he knew his mother well, she wouldn’t wait till tomorrow. She’d interrogate Audré tonight and see what she could learn about Adrian’s mother.

Inside the Château, it was almost uproar now. Audré was in her parlour, lying on a couch, three elves were howling and crying as though she was dead, Lillian was sitting somber faced and a Healer, whom Draco hasn’t seen before, was checking his aunt’s pulse. Julian was standing by his mother and watching everything with an amused look.

“Her pulse is fine.” The Healer declared and put the hand down, “Lillian, ma cheri, why did you call me?” He asked, “Madame Audré is fine.”

“She was talking about marrying me off to a dragon trainer.” Lillian replied miserably, “And teaching me how to bake rock cakes for him.”

The Healer laughed heartily, “Really Madame?” He turned to his patient who lay solemnly on a couch, “Wedding in the family? When are we getting invitations?”

“As soon as I fix Julian’s bride.” Audré replied and sat up, “Honestly, Healer, I need to see some new faces in this Château.”

“I am seeing some new faces in this Château.” The Healer looked curiously at Draco and his mother.

“They are my uncle Lucius’s family.” Julian replied promptly, “My aunt, Narcissa Malfoy, and my cousin, Draco.” He motioned at them respectively.

“I see.” The smile on the Healer’s face vanished. “Well, Madame,” He stood up and gathered all his belongings, “I eagerly await two wedding invitations.” He bowed and left. Draco watched as Julian escorted him out of the parlour. Not that it mattered, but that stranger’s cold greetings weren’t lost on him.

The rest of the evening went well, considering how bad the real situation was. Audré, now completely in her element, handed out the presents she has brought for her children. Lillian received a generous pile of best Belgian chocolates and Julian received Rhodope Malfoy’s painting.

“What’s this?” He asked, examining the heavy rectangular object that was very elegantly wrapped in silk.

“That’s my Nonna.” Audré replied, “Your father’s grandmother, Rhodope Malfoy.”

That declaration followed a few surprised cries, an astounded Narcissa and a solemn Draco, who hardly cared. He was glad his aunt has been sufficiently bribed and impressed.

Sensing what it was, Julian quickly unwrapped the portrait. A beautiful lady with magnificent pearl necklace was revealed. She was tearful and smiling.

“Morpheus’s son!” Rhodope cried, a lone stream of tear rolling down her cheek, as she looked from Julian to Lillian, “And daughter! I never thought I’d live to see them.”

Draco had a strong urge to correct her and say that she wasn’t alive anymore. But that would ruin the entire purpose of getting rid of that bloody portrait. He watched as his cousins and the long dead Rhodope had a tearful reunion. After it was over, for which Draco was thankful, her portrait was transferred to his uncle’s study where she’d now reside.

“Your son was a very generous host, Narcissa.” Audré attested to her sister-in-law, “He arranged a nice dinner in my honour, looked after my comfort and made my stay at Malfoy Manor a memorable one. And before I left he gave me Nonna’s portrait, saying she’d feel better with us. I certainly can’t ask for more.”

Draco’s mouth would have fallen open had it not for the fact that his mother, beaming like a well-polished copper kettle, brought him closer and kissed on his temple for the second time that evening. Narcissa Malfoy’s bouts of affection were pretty childish. Draco bore with it, simpering like that rose in one of those Ministry leaflets on ‘Mudbloods and the dangers they pose to a peaceful pureblood society’.

“Thank you, cousin!” Julian came and gave Draco a hearty hug.

“Yes, cousin,” Lillian agreed, maintaining a good distance between them, “Thank you.”

“My son can be very charming when he wants to.” Narcissa stated proudly, red from its excessive dose.

Draco didn’t counter her. He has finally understood what Audré had meant by taking care of her guests. She was not going to do anything that’d upset Narcissa. That was great.

Dinner followed soon. It was already past eleven o’clock so they didn’t waste more time in talking. Draco didn’t feel hungry but to keep his mother satiated, he ate as much as he could. Strangely, no one asked him about Adrian, not even his cousins. Draco understood what was keeping them: He. He was the reason they weren’t enquiring about Adrian openly.

“Good night everyone!” He set the spoons down after the soup, casserole and salad, preparing to leave.

“Why?” Narcissa cried in alarm, “We still have dessert left, Draco, dear, your favourite honey and walnut Panna cotta.”

Like most Italian dishes, Panna cottas were indeed Draco’s favourite and when it had honey and walnut with cream, there was no saying ‘no’. But tonight he had more pressing matters than the delicacy of honey and walnut Panna cotta.

“I am tired, mother.” He yawned to make it look more authentic, “Mind if I eat it tomorrow?”

“Oh no!” Narcissa smiled sweetly. She proceeded to leave her chair, evidently to escort Draco to his bedroom when he held up a hand.

“Mother, I am twenty four, a widower and father of three dead sons.” He said solemnly, “You don’t have to put me to sleep. Please!”

The dining table went very quiet. The young Chombrun Malfoys exchanged apprehensive looks and Audré sat back, supporting her chin on her right hand, and gave Draco a peculiar look. It had a mixture of reproach and thoughtfulness.

Narcissa slumped on her seat and looked away.  Draco left the dining room without a backward glance. He passed the door but instead of going to his own room, he hid behind the door and eavesdropped. Now would the real conversation ensue, he knew.

“It’s alright, Narcissa.” First came Audré’s voice, “Here, take this handkerchief.”

There was sound of someone sobbing, which definitely was Narcissa. Then she blew her nose in the handkerchief.

“Draco…” Narcissa sniffed and hiccupped, “…he is not like that…he was never like that…I raised him…I am his mother…I know him…he is just so stressed these days…he didn’t sleep last night…he has got so thin…” she started sobbing again, “….it must be that woman…that hooker…I don’t know what spell she cast on my son and managed to have that boy…but I’ll find it…I will definitely find it… I am Narcissa Malfoy!”

“Narcissa, calm down, dearest, come down!” Audré said kindly, “I think there should be a limit to the self-righteousness one chooses to display. Who told you that Adrian’s mother is a hooker?”

“She must be.” Narcissa sounded astonished that Audré contradicted her view, “Why do you think Draco isn’t breathing a word about her? Why he is hiding, protecting them? Why didn’t he bring them with him? Because he couldn’t! That bitch must have cast some deadly spell on him!”

“Now, now, Narcissa, don’t be so severe on your son’s poor soul.” Audré said gently, “It’s not a crime to keep secrets. I have mine and I am sure you have yours too.”

“I don’t have any secrets!” Narcissa retorted, “You tell me if you know who that woman is?”

Draco held his breath.

“She is English, isn’t she?” Narcissa pressed, sensing she has hit the right spot, “That’s why you went to England, didn’t you? To know more about her?”

“That’s not a question, Narcissa, so I see no point in answering it.” Audré finally replied, “The point _is_ that I am hundred percent confident that Adrian’s mother is a noblewoman and by nobility I don’t necessarily mean blood status. I will not go into the details of baby making, Narcissa, that’s neither civil nor relevant to discuss here. All I can say is that she had no obligation to keep Adrian. But she kept the baby, had him and is now raising him very well. Adrian is a fine little gentleman. You should be grateful to this little boy exists. Otherwise _your_ only son was done for.”

Narcissa exhaled heavily. For a long minute no one spoke.

“Narcissa,” Audré sounded as though was done achieving her mean, “I never saw you as my contender in the race for Malfoy Manor’s Mistress’s crown. You have your own home and I have mine. I always regarded you as a separate personality from your husband. You have a special place of respect in my heart. I implore you to not break that image.”

Clever move! Draco was definitely impressed at how his aunt has steered the conversation out of danger point.

“I am just a mother who is worried for her son, Audré.” Came Narcissa’s worried voice, “I didn’t mean to disrespect Adrian’s mother. But now that you have confirmed me that she is a noblewoman I feel I was right in thinking that Malfoys could never settle for anything lesser than that, even if it’s just for once. Anyone else would be way below their dignity. She must be a pureblood and had secretly fancied my son. So when they…er…copulated she took it as an opportunity to have a baby of her own and didn’t take necessary precautions.”  

Draco’s ears went pink. Was that what his mother thought about him? That girls secretly fancied him? Yes, they did but mostly they fancied him because he was a Malfoy and could buy them expensive presents. Even as a one night stand, he was a more expensive partner than all the other males in Hogwarts put together, including Potter. He kept listening, wondering what else his mother thought about him.

“That reminds me, Audré,” Narcissa continued, “what is Adrian’s mother’s name? She must be a Slytherin and one of our Sacred Twenty Eight.”

“Yes, maman, what’s her name?” This time Lillian spoke.

Draco felt his heartbeat quicken. Would his aunt tell his mother that…

“I consider it a personal insult upon my honour to disclose things that are not my concern.” Audré’s reply broke Draco’s musings, “Adrian and his mother are Draco’s private matters. Only _he_ is entitled to answer your questions, Narcissa.”

“But…” Narcissa sounded shocked, “…I am his mother!” She recovered it quickly and supplied reasonably, “I have the rights to know the name of the woman who gave me a pureblood grandson!”

“Of course you have.” Audré was as cool and firm as an iceberg, “I am not denying that. You are at full liberty to exercise that right over your son, Narcissa.”

“But he is not telling me anything!” Narcissa cried helplessly.

“He will.” Audré said patiently, “But for that you have to give him some time. He is an adult man! He was a husband! He was a father! He still would have been those, if his family were alive! I understand you are worried, dear sister-in-law, but we must keep in mind that Draco is not a child anymore. We can’t press him about the things he doesn’t want to talk about. That’s both uncivil and insensible.”

“Would you have said that if Draco were your son?” Narcissa sounded like a wounded tigress, “Or Julian had sired a son without your knowledge?”

Draco could feel that the temperature in the dining room has suddenly dropped several degrees. Shit! That was a bad move! Why did mother attacked aunt Audré? What if she told her everything now?

“My _knowledge_?” Audré repeated, her voice now ice, “So that’s what bothering you. Draco had a son without your knowledge, right?”

“Yes, it is bothering me!” Narcissa flared up, “As it should bother any sensible mother!”

“I am sorry Narcissa but I don’t quite agree with you on this matter.” Audré said firmly, “You see, I have a very different idea about sensibility. But I will not waste your precious time discussing what I think or feel. You asked me what I would have done if Draco was my son, or Julian would have sired a son without my knowledge. I will answer that question, part by part.” She paused.

Merlin! Draco waited eagerly for the rest of it to follow.

“First part, what _I_ would have done if Draco were my son?” Audré resumed, “I would have asked him to go and apologize to Adrian’s mother. Fornication is not just a woman’s act. It involves a man and he is the main factor here, he is the one who starts it. So, _my_ son, Draco, would have admitted that he has done wrong and like a good lad, gone to the woman, the mother of his son and apologized and done everything in his power to put it all back to normal.”

Shit! Draco cursed under his breath.

“Second part, if I had learnt that Julian has sired a son without my _knowledge_ ,” Audré continued, “I would ask him only one thing: _why_ isn’t he bringing them home?” she paused, “What are you so afraid of? That Draco didn’t tell you about Adrian’s mother? He didn’t know. You know that, we all know that. Or that the boy was conceived before marriage and isn’t a legitimate heir to the Malfoys? Which one is it? Tell me Narcissa. Clarify.”

Draco waited for his mother to reply.

“Draco used to tell me everything. Nowadays he doesn’t.” Narcissa’s voice was quiet and sad, “I feel like I am losing my son.”

“And you think Adrian’s mother is responsible for that?” Audré voiced the unspoken part.

Narcissa didn’t reply but Draco was sure she must have nodded.

“That woman doesn’t even know that Draco found them in Brussels, so be careful when you blame someone.” Audré said, sighing deeply, “You want to know why Draco doesn’t say anything? Because there is nothing to say. He found his son and lost him. We chased them to England and found out that they live here, in Paris. He would have said that you tomorrow, because he needs our help to find that boy. But you were getting impatient, you were getting insecured.”

Draco slumped against the wall, relieved. Merlin! Who made this wonderfully clever woman named Audré Chombrun Malfoy? Who made her?

“If you continue to poke a hole that doesn’t budge, Narcissa, it will only get worse. It’ll burst.” Audré was saying, “Draco is not in a good state. We know that. We have to be patient and gentle with him, which you are being, I can see that. But there is no point in blaming his condition on Adrian’s mother, or calling her a hooker, or spellbinder, or any other nasty name. Those are not going to work because she _remains_ Adrian’s mother.” She reasoned, “Besides, Draco is only concerned about his son. He is a widower and his love and loyalty lies with his dead wife, Astoria.  He is not remotely interested in Adrian’s mother.”

“He isn’t?” It was not clear whether Narcissa was happy or sad to hear that.

“No.” Audré assured her, “I told you, Narcissa, I can’t tell you things that are other people’s private matter. All I can say is that Adrian’s mother is not a hooker. She is a noblewoman. Despite what happened between Draco and her, she has raised Adrian very well. But that was past and this is present and in the present time none of them, Draco or Adrian’s mother, are interested in each other. So trying to throw them together and cook a romantic broth would all go in vain. They have only one interest in common: Adrian. Their son.”

Draco suddenly felt a great rush of affection and gratitude for his aunt. This witch was awesome! Bless the day she married his uncle!

“You said they live in Paris.” It was Julian who spoke, “Do you know where?”

“No.” Audré replied.

“Who told you she lives in Paris?” Narcissa asked. She was still stuck in ‘she’ and not using ‘they’.

“One of her acquaintance.” Audré replied.

Draco knew Fleur hasn’t mentioned any places in her memory but by this statement he became sure that he and Audré were thinking along the same line. The Delacours live in Paris.

“Why here?” Narcissa enquired, “I don’t know any Slytherins had close ties in France.” 

“Does that mean you are not a Slytherin?” Audré enquired, “Or that we are not close ties?”

“No, it’s neither.” Narcissa sounded aghast, “Slytherin witch, pureblood, becomes pregnant before marriage and keeps the baby, comes to France to raise him, doesn’t tell the baby’s father… all these doesn’t sound…you know…normal for our House. We are a House of uplifting traditions… values… morals… preserving the purity. That’s what we are, Slytherins! And we have done that against every odd, every unreasonable prejudice! That profile matches either a Gryffindor Mud…Muggleborn or a Hufflepuff retard.”

Draco cursed under his breath again. Why was his mother so analytic! Why couldn’t she just believe what aunt Audré was telling her to believe?

“Do you have any clues to find out where they could live?” Julian’s Auror brain seemed stuck to the real problem.

“No.” Audré replied. Draco knew it was a lie. She had one clue. The Delacours. She could use that to track Adrian. Why wasn’t she saying it?

“Then how do you plan to find them?” Lillian asked her mother, “Paris is a huge city.”

“I know.” Audré said, sounding thoughtful, “I have a theory that might come handy.”

“What?” everyone asked in unison. Even Draco would have, had he not been hiding behind the dining room door and eavesdropping.

“I got the idea from Narcissa.” Audré said vaguely, as though still lost in thought.

“Me?” Narcissa sounded taken aback.

“Yes.” Audré affirmed, “You had said Draco drew very well and you had a drawing master for him.”

“Yes, I had but how’s that…” Narcissa sounded confused.

“I got it! I got it!” Julian and Lillian both cried separately and in unison, “Maman thinks Adrian is receiving private lessons!”

“Looks like my children have been eating enough cod liver oil.” Audré sounded happy, “It improves mental performance.”

Cod liver oil or not Draco now knew that his plans haven’t failed at all. Audré Chombrun Malfoy was a walking mine of cod liver oil. Anyone living with her would be graced with her amazing intelligence.

“You want to track the teacher and then you want to track the pupil!” Julian slammed so loudly on the table that plates and goblets clinked, “Brilliant, Maman! Brilliant!”

Draco too felt the same, only he couldn’t go out and express it.

“Okay, okay,” Audré called for peace, “Now don’t go on and tell that to Draco right now. He is very tired and must be asleep. We will start from tomorrow. We will catalogue all the famous Wizarding painters, go to them and ask if they have a pupil named Adrian. It’s not going to be an easy job but we must be patient. Is that clear?”

“Yes, brigadier!” Julian cheered.

Draco was feeling so delighted that half of him wanted to dance and the other half wanted to give his aunt the entire Malfoy Manor, his biggest and only property. But that would mean he wouldn’t leave anything for Adrian and besides, aunt Audré wasn’t interested in Malfoy Manor, that much he could surely tell.

“Speaking of painters,” It was Narcissa again, after a long space of silence, “Remember I wrote you Julian took us to opera?”

“I do.” Audré replied.

“I saw a poster there. About an exhibition.” Narcissa sounded thoughtful this time, “It was a huge one, from floor to ceiling and you know how high the ceiling of Paris Opera House is. It said that some famous painter….” She paused as though trying to remember the name.

“Aunt is talking about Monsieur Oscar Monette.” Lillian supplied, “He is having an exhibition in Opera House.”

“Monsieur Monette?” Audré asked. Someone must have nodded because her next words were, “Interesting!”

“What’s interesting?” Narcissa asked, sounding as though she has hit a jackpot, “Do you think he is one that gives Adrian private lessons?”

“Monette…” Audré’s voice seemed lost, “…had once drawn a huge painting of white lilies on white background…”

Fantastic! Fantastic! Draco didn’t need saying anymore. He danced quietly on the spot and threw several happy fists in the air. Aunt Audré was a boss! She was the boss! She was…

“We’ll start with Monette.” Audré said thoughtfully, “But if I know this man well, which I do, he is well known for not liking purebloods. He never sells them his paintings.”

“What an utter nonsense!” Narcissa was greatly annoyed and so was Draco, “Will he talk to us?”

“That, my dear, remains to be seen.” Audré replied mysteriously.

•••••

Alexis could always tell when Hermione was troubled. It didn’t require much expertise, to be frank. One just had to know where to look.

Hermione’s brown eyes were beautiful and innocent as her soul and synced perfectly with her mood. When she was angry, which wasn’t much often, there was a blaze, a fire in them; when she was happy, which mercifully was more frequent than she smiled, her eyes had the warmth and appeal of melted rich, dark chocolate; and when she was worried, which she, to Alexis’s immense dismay, always hid, her eyes had a lost and vacant look about themselves. One look at them and Alexis could tell on which direction Hermione’s mood was going.

There was another parameter. Hermione was a renowned lover of books, so renowned that even bookworms would go shy before her. And when she saw a family member reading a new book and didn’t ask or even care to enquire about it, a feat that has happened last night, it meant something was definitely wrong.

Alexis would have been happy if that was the end of his analysis but sadly it wasn’t. It has never happened that Hermione forgot her son’s monthly checkup. Remembering it was almost like a ritual; no matter how busy she was Hermione would always appear on time to take Adrian to Madame Papadouris. And on their way back to home, she would buy him a little present, even if it was a toothbrush, to reward and encourage him to attend the next visit. But that didn’t happen yesterday. Hermione has forgotten something that she has never forgotten.

Now there was no doubt in his mind that Hermione was deeply troubled and the way she was keeping her lips sealed pointed straight at one man: Draco Malfoy.

Be it a thought or broth Alexis didn’t like to overcook it. What would work out, would work out, as it had this afternoon.

_In the ministry, interdepartmental meetings were scheduled for Monday. Thursdays were for meetings with ambassadors who mostly came for negotiating trade deals or deliver messages on behalf of their Ministers. This morning, as per Alexis’s knowledge, Minister Guizot had meetings with the ambassadors of Republic of Seychelles, Norway and Georgia. After that he had a luncheon in the honour of visiting Minister for Magic of Portugal. His day’s work would end after signing a bilateral agreement with the Portuguese government on allowing more Portuguese students to Beauxbatons._

_Everything had gone well. The agreement was signed, the Ministers shook hands, gave a short speech of farewell and parted. Alexis was preparing to leave for home, to accompany Hermione and Adrian to Monsieur Monette’s exhibition when he received a memo. It was from the Minister and he has called an urgent meeting. The Advisor Panel, the Undersecretaries and top officials from the Department of Law Enforcement were asked to be present._

_Alexis was never tired of working but today he frowned at the memo, feeling immensely annoyed. They didn’t have any more meetings today. He was with the Minister all the time and not for once did he mention a meeting. Why now? Why call it at the eleventh hour? Sighing deeply and wondering if he’d have to sacrifice the fine day he was going to spent with his fiancée and to-be son, Alexis went to the Ministry Conference Hall._

_Everyone was already present there. Philippe Merle, the Senior Undersecretary, looked as clueless as Alexis. The Advisors sat and kept stealing glances at Singer Sergeant and his second-in-command, Julian Chombrun Malfoy.  Minister Guizot sat at the head of the long conference table._

_Alexis has worked so long in the Ministry to sense and foresee the fate of a meeting from its mood. Guizot looked uncharacteristically tense; there was no speck of an earlier amiable smile on his features. MLE head, Sergeant was more stony faced than the famous Notre Dame gargoyles. His Second-in-Command, Julian, was silent. Except Merle, who was drumming lightly on the table, everyone was equally serious and curious._

_“Yesterday, Julian sent me a confidential report.” Guizot started as soon as Alexis took his seat on his left, “It’s my thirty five years in this Ministry and I have never seen anything like that.” He paused gravely._

_As it should happen in such situations, everyone’s, including Alexis’s gaze shifted to Julian. The man was still silent and staring determinedly at his hands, which lay folded before him, on the table._

_“Why?” Merle returned his gaze on Guizot and asked._

_Silent, Guizot pushed a file to him. Merle’s fingers stopped drumming._

_The file had deep crimson cover. Alexis knew that under section 5B clause number 16 of the Minister for Magic’s Code of Secrecy, any document inside a red file was for the Minister’s eyes only. Any break of the law was an offense punishable up to ten years in prison._

_“See for yourself.” Guizot urged, seeing that Merle didn’t even dare touch the file._

_Merle looked at the Advisors; they, too, looked perplexed. Next he looked at Alexis for support._

_Alexis nodded solemnly._

_Merle exhaled deeply and after adjusting his pince-nez pulled the file to him with trembling fingers. He opened it and read what was on the report. As his eyes roved down the paper his face became from a shade of rich red to sick pale._

_Alexis wondered what it was all about and why he didn’t perceive anything until now. He has been working in the Ministry for so long to know the Minister from up close very well. Guizot was famous for his openness, frankness and honesty. He wasn’t someone who’d have something on their minds and something else on their lips._

_“O Nostradamus!” Merle cried and almost thrust the file back to Guizot, as though happy to get rid of the damn thing. He sat back, wiped sweats glistening on grey brows and conjured a fan to cool himself. By this time the tension at the table was palpable. Guizot must have sensed it because he passed the red file to Alexis next. Alexis read it and passed it to the Advisors. They read it and were about to pass it to Sergeant when the Guizot spoke._

_“They already know.” His voice was graver than ever._

_Alexis was marveled by the Minister’s mental strength. How someone could read that report and appear perfectly normal before ambassadors, guests and the press, was beyond him._

_“Is it…is it true?” One of the Advisors squeaked._

_Alexis’s mind was spinning. He tried to remember if he has ever read or heard or even imagined that something like this could exist. The report Julian has submitted to Guizot was that of a wand core analysis. The MLE Department had their own experts on wand analysis and they have given that report after stripping down a wand that was sent to them a few days ago. The wand was procured by Aurors when they were keeping a close watch on illegal wand traders. Initially it was thought that the wands were fake. Later, it was revealed that the wands were manufactured in a way to use them to cast the Three Unforgivables: the Cruciatus, Imperius, and Avada Kedavra._

_“Here it is.” In response to the Advisor’s query, Sergeant placed a wand box on the table and pushed it to him, “Don’t worry. We have de-charmed it.” He assured when all three Advisors leapt to their feet, ready to run, as though the box held a ticking bomb._

_“Fine…fine…we see it’s true.” Another Advisor squeaked defensively. He looked close to passing out._

_Seeing that no one was interested to see the contents of the box Alexis reached out and brought it to him. His fingers were almost trembling when he opened it and peeped in. Inside was laid a very battered wand. The sides were chipped off, revealing the wood and half a handle was missing. It didn’t look like something that was by description, so lethal._

_“Is it…” Guizot peeped in and seemed perplexed by the wand. Merle squeezed his head beside Guizot’s. The Advisors came closer and bent over the small group._

_“It looks…” They muttered confusedly._

_“…strange.” Merle suggested pensively._

_Alexis thought they were all using wrong words. The wand didn’t look strange. It looked…_

_“Excuse me everyone!” It was Julian whose voice broke Alexis’s musings. “Please sit down. We’ll shortly return to the issue of ‘looks’. But before that I request someone to volunteer.”_

_“Volunteer?” Guizot repeated incredulously._

_“Yes, I request someone to hold that wand firmly.” Julian affirmed._

_“No way!” The Advisors backed away immediately._

_“What the hell is this?” Merle demanded angrily, “First call an urgent meeting. Then give us a horrific report to read; then ask us to hold a cursed wand…”_

_“I’ll hold it!” Alexis declared above the hubbub, seeing that there was no other way to proceed, “I’ll hold it.” he said more solemnly when everyone became quiet._

_“Fine then.” Julian cleared his throat, as though not liking the volunteer but deciding to proceed anyway, “Please pick up the wand and hold it.”_

_Alexis did as he was told. The others held their breaths._

_“What do you feel, monsieur?” Julian asked Alexis, “Do you feel any difference between this wand and the wand you use?”_

_“Obviously he feels a difference.” Merle said angrily, “It’s not his wand.”_

_“Philippe!” Guizot held up a hand to quieten the agitated man._

_“I feel…” Alexis concentrated on the wand he was holding. It was hard to believe that it was an actual wand, not a dead piece of twig._

_“It feels dead.” He spoke the best word that fitted this wand._

_A haunting silence welcomed his statement._

_“Everyone, please sit down.” Sergeant boomed and startled them, “Like uncle, like nephew, Delacour. Good job!”_

_Alexis nodded and returned the wand to its box. Sergeant Summoned it and stowed it inside his robe._

_“I know it sounds strange, but Delacour is right. That wand is dead.” Sergeant confirmed, “This one you see is almost a hundred years old and taken from a grave.”_

_“Grave?” One of the Advisor’s blinked in astonishment, “I didn’t know people hold funerals for their wands.”_

_“Not funeral, Monsieur.” Julian spoke this time, sounding borderline amused, “Tell me what we do with a wand when its owner dies?”_

_“We bury i…” Merle replied spontaneously and stopped midsentence, his eyes round, “…we bury it with the owner.”_

_“Exactly.” Julian nodded in agreement, “We bury it with the owner.”_

_“You mean…that…that…” Merle looked nauseated at the idea, “…that thing was taken from a dead man’s grave?”_

_Both Sergeant and Julian nodded this time._

_“But why?” Guizot cried, dumbfounded._

_“Patience Minister.” Julian held up a solemn hand, “I’ll explain that in a minute. But before that we will return to the topic of this wand being dead. I believe you know I have a younger sister, Monsieur, and she studies wand lore?”_

_Guizot nodded and so did others who knew Morpheus and Audré Malfoy’s children._

_“We never talk about work at home but sometimes I consult her.” Julian was telling them, “Yesterday after our analysts sent me that report,” he pointed at the red file, “I asked her if wands can die. She said they can.”_

_“You talk as though wands are alive.” Merle said, looking troubled._

_“Well my sister says they are.” Julian replied patiently, “She said wands choose the wizard, the wizard doesn’t choose them. It’s a famous myth in wandlore.”_

_The Advisors and Merle exchanged puzzled looks. Guizot, on the other hand, looked interested._

_“I remember Wandmaker Curtius telling me that when I went to buy my wand from him.” He examined his wand with a tender expression, “Wands choose the wizard.” He nodded absent-mindedly, “Your sister is smart, Julian. What else did she say?”_

_“She said that wands can sense power and choose their allegiance.” Julian replied, “And when someone dies, their wands either die or change allegiance. Lillian used a special term for it. Widow Wand.”_

_“Widow Wand?” Everyone except Merle repeated in unison._

_“Why widow?” Merle enquired._

_“Because… I don’t know how to explain this…” Julian spent a second in thinking, “Lillian had used very beautiful terms to explain it but the gist is, wands are like women. They choose their partners for life. And when that partner dies they either die, meaning they decide to not bond with anyone ever, or they take a new partner, meaning they change allegiance.”_

_“I see.” Merle looked half-impressed and half-skeptic._

_Alexis noted a hint of resentment in Julian’s features. Was he thinking about his mother, Madame Audré, who had withdrawn herself from almost everything that was life after she became a widow?_

_“Lillian said it is easy win a Widow Wand’s allegiance than a virgin wand’s.” Julian was saying, “Again it’s like a virgin lady who is waiting for her partner…”_

_“Is there is something called a married wand?” Merle interrupted, forgetting what they were in the middle of a very important discussion._

_Julian shook his head, “In wandlore a wand that has chosen somebody is called a Wedded Wand.”_

_“How peculiar!” An Advisor remarked and others nodded in agreement._

_“So the wand we procured is a Widow Wand.” Julian returned to the main topic, “It was taken from someone’s grave. Because it has no master and is dead, it was easy for these criminals to imbibe these dark staff into the wand.”_

_“Are they killing people or robbing graves?” Merle cheeped._

_“It can be both.” Sergeant replied gravely, “We are still not sure.”_

_“But why do that?” Guizot asked, looking dead worried, “What is their plan with these wands?”_

_No one replied. Guizot’s questions have echoed their worst fears: the rise of another Dark Lord in Europe, only this time in France._

_But Alexis’s mind was elsewhere. He was sure he had heard or read of a case where someone had broken open a tomb and robbed a wand. Where had he heard it? From whom?_

_“We’ll have another meeting as soon as there is any progress.” Guizot was almost at the end of the meeting, “Julian will keep me notified. And Alexis,” the Minister turned to him, “…will try to trace where the money is coming from.”_

_Alexis nodded, understanding where he’d have to go for that. Gringotts. And it was at that moment he remembered what Hermione had once told them._

_The meeting ended. Alexis checked the time. It was twenty minutes past three o’clock. Monsieur Monette’s exhibition was big. If he left now he might be able to be with Hermione and Adrian in the exhibition. But another idea has come up and it was more important to have that done._

_“Monsieur?” Guizot was about to leave the Conference Hall when Alexis ran to him._

_“Yes?” Guizot stopped on track and turned to him._

_“Monsieur,” Alexis stole a glance at Julian, who was on his way out, accompanied by Sergeant and the Advisors, “Monsieur, I wanted to have a word in private.”_

_“Okay.” Guizot didn’t miss the man Alexis glanced at but nevertheless nodded and left. Alexis followed him silently._

_Back at his office, Guizot took the seat behind his desk and motioned him to sit._

_“Merci.” Alexis thanked Guizot and sat. For a while, they remained silent, as he tried to feel the Minister out._

_“Monsieur, I hope you remember, my sister.” Alexis decided to keep Hermione out of this and took a different approach._

_“Fleur?” A momentary ray of confusion appeared on Guizot’s features, “Of course I do!” He snorted as though suggesting otherwise was foolish, “We had awarded her a medal! Brave witch! Brave and beautiful witch!”_

_“Fleur’s husband was also present at the ceremony.” Alexis supplied calmly._

_“Yes, Bill,” Guizot’s features became empathetic, “He fought a werewolf alone.”_

_Alexis nodded._

_“Brave chap!” Guizot praised Bill genuinely, “Brave chap!”_

_“You know Monsieur,” Alexis decided to speed it up a bit, “Today, when Monsieur Julian was telling us about Widow Wands, he reminded me of Bill. Bill had, once, told me that Lord Voldemort had broken into their Headmaster’s tomb and robbed his wand.” He paused deliberately to see the Minister’s reaction._

_“Lord Vold…emort!” Guizot turned paler than ghosts as though Voldemort himself has appeared suddenly, “Why?”_

_“He was under the impression that he needed a more powerful wand than he already had, to defeat Potter.” Alexis replied simply, “He had Ollivander kidnapped and through him learned that Albus Dumbledore’s wand was the most powerful wand in the world.”_

_“Was it?” Guizot’s fearfully dilated pupils were fixed on Alexis._

_“We don’t know.” Alexis shook his head, “Bill never told me. But his guess is that Potter won against Lord Voldemort because his wand didn’t betray him.”_

_“How did Bill know that?” Guizot frowned._

_“Dumbledore’s Army succeeded in recovering Ollivander from his prison.” Alexis lied flatly, not bringing Hermione’s painful memory in it, “He was brought to Bill and Fleur’s place. That’s when it was all came out.”_

_“I see.” Guizot said absent-mindedly. Seeing that his words have had a better effect than he had expected, Alexis moved onto the next topic._

_“Monsieur before I proceed, I want to make it very clear that there is no personal issue involved here.” He said as truthfully as he could, “I just want my country to stay safe.”_

_“I know, Alexis, I know” Guizot assured him solemnly, “You family has sacrificed so much for France. We will never forget your uncle, Auror Jourdain.”_

_“Merci Monsieur,” Alexis smiled, “Bill’s family, the Weasleys, know the British Malfoys very well.” He began solemnly, “Lucius Malfoy, as I have already told you, was Lord Voldemort’s active supporter. His sister-in-law, Bellatrix Lestrange was his right hand person. Bill reckons Draco and his mother might well be Death Eaters too. It’s not proven but it’s quite possible.”_

_Guizot leaned forward, silent but listening intently._

_“Monsieur, I think there is a connection between these wands and the British Malfoy’s sudden wish to visit France.” Alexis supplied reasonably, “The timing is very significant. It all started after Draco came here. Lord Voldemort had used their home as his base. So chances are he might know how Lord Voldemort broke into Professor Dumbledore’s grave and took his wand.”_

_“You think that Julian is behind this?” Guizot asked sharply._

_“No,” Alexis shook his head. He knew Guizot trusted his inner circle and they, too, were worthy of it. “I don’t think Monsieur Julian or any member of his family would actively or knowingly support the Death Eaters. But the British Malfoys have a reputation for using influential people to as their shields. After the Second Wizarding War, Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to Azkaban but he escaped it by having his son marry the MLE Head’s daughter. What if they are doing the same here, only this time it is Monsieur Julian’s family?”_

_Guizot looked troubled but Alexis was pleased to see that he didn’t protest._

_“What is your plan?” He asked after a while, rubbing his eyes wearily, “You do have a plan?”_

_“If you allow, I’d like to have someone set on Draco Malfoy, to track him round the clock.” Alexis proposed solemnly, his voice and heart beats steady, “I’m not saying that he is_ definitely _behind this. He could be innocent and this visit could really be a family one.” He tried to sound neutral and indifferent, “But we should first rule out that he is not misusing his cousin’s high position.”_

_“Fine.” Guizot sighed in acceptance, “I have no objection. One thing, though. Don’t involve the MLE spies in this. It’ll be humiliating for Julian to learn that we suspect his cousin.”_

_“Don’t worry Monsieur,” Alexis assured Guizot, “I have a better name in mind.”_

_“Who?” Guizot frowned._

_“She in charge of your personal protection.” Alexis replied pleasantly._

_“In_ _éz?” Guizot smiled for the first time since that meeting and that too, approvingly, “Oh yeah, clever and calm, she’d be the best pick for that.”_

Alexis settled everything with the second-in-command of Elite Guards and left office late, knowing well that he has missed taking Hermione and Adrian out, but somehow he felt he has made up for that. Finally, he would have Draco Malfoy tracked.

•••••

There was not a patient bone in Draco’s Malfoy body. Yet, he waited for Thursday morning with whatever dregs of aforementioned virtue he could muster.

It was difficult to fully coin what he felt. Anticipation could be the closest term, but it, somehow fell short to convey how his sleep was taken away, his appetite was extinguished and every tangible and intangible thoughts from his mind was erased. It was agonizing! And frustrating! Half the night Draco pondered over what Audré had meant by ‘that remains to be seen’ and the other half in pacing and thinking about Adrian. He hardly looked at the bed, let alone sleep and when tired, sat on a couch and started reading what he had collected on Adrian in his diary.

He read everything almost fifty times and around dawn, not knowing how, drifted into an uneasy slumber.

_Needless to say he dreamt Adrian. Any father would, when all his heart and soul was invested in his little boy. Just as it happened in reality, in his dreams too, Adrian was running and playing with water or sitting in a corner and drawing patiently or making sweet rhymes and solving clever puzzles and Draco was watching him, simply watching him from a distance, marveled and mesmerized. And when Adrian made a poem on him he thought it was the most fantastic poem in the world._

_Adrian was reciting, happily:_

_Papa, papa, papa!_

_I love my papa!_

_I don’t love that mama!_

_I loooooove my papa!_

_Draco’s heart burst from a tender rush of affection. Adrian loved him! He actually loved him! Oh Merlin, this was the best day of his life! The best day!_

_Tearful, Draco ran to Adrian, to hold him close to his hearts, give him everything he had and tell him that he, too, loved him with every fiber of his being. He was just a foot from Adrian when he bumped against something. It was hard and invisible! Perplexed and rubbing his throbbing forehead, Draco retreated and examined the damn thing. It was a strong glass wall and look at the nerve of it; it was separating them, a father from his son! Outraged, Draco whipped out his wand and lashed at the glass with an angry spell.  It shattered but the moment he stepped on the other side, Adrian looked at him and vanished. Draco stood there, alone and foolish, staring blankly at the spot the boy had been just a moment ago._

_“NOOOOOOOOO….” Draco screamed in fury and stomped his feet. His entire being was writhing in pain. He has lost Adrian, yet again! “No! Don’t go! Don’t leave father!” He called at Adrian, “Come back! COME BACK!”_

_But Adrian didn’t reappear. He seemed gone forever. Draco called him for a while and then sat down where the boy had been, and started crying._

_“Adrian….nnn…” He sobbed like a little boy who has lost his mother in a crowd, “…come back to papa…come back to…fattth…her… com…mmme back to mee….”_

_How long he cried, Draco neither knew, nor did he care. He just knew that his son was gone, his son was taken away and it was all that Granger’s fault! It was all Granger’s fault! That Mudblood! That Mudblood has run away with his son, his heir. Thief! Bloody effing baby thief!_

_In his anger, Draco imagined every horrible mean he could use to punish that Mudblood, when they meet next time. It seemed that her last punishment wasn’t enough. There were some whores who actually took pleasure from rape and that Mudblood was definitely one of those abominable creatures.  But Draco wasn’t fool. He knew perfectly well to deal with these gutter worms._

_Draco imagined that Mudblood and ripped her from limb to limb!_

_Draco imagined that Mudblood and gave her an insane dose of Cruciatus!_

_Draco imagined that Mudblood and gauzed her eyes out, the eyes that have dared to look at his son!_

_Eyes still closed he continued clawing at that Mudblood until a woman’s voice truly woke him up._

“Draco? What’s it? What’s it, son?”

As though a mummy has been reincarnated, Draco opened his eyes. Narcissa came into view. She was leaning over him. She looked pale as ghost, and panicked.

“Draco! Dearest!” Her voice trembled from fright and helplessness, “What’s it, baby?” She wiped his sweaty face on her clean and fragrant handkerchief.

Draco’s eyes moved to the person standing next to his mother. It was Audré, his aunt.  Compared to a very pale Narcissa, she looked opposite. Her demeanor was calm and confident.

“Here, nephew. Drink this tonic.” She offered him an opaque liquid in a tiny glass goblet.

Draco didn’t move a muscle and returned his gaze at his mother. She looked closed to fainting. Her fearful blue eyes were silently pleading to him.

“It’s a Nerve Tonic, cousin.” A sweet voice tried to assure him and shirting his gaze, Draco located the owner. It was Lillian, peeping from behind Audré. Judging by her nightclothes and tussled long braid, she must have been asleep before coming here.

There was something in Lillian’s frightful features that struck a chord in his heart: Audré’s horrific claim that he’d assault his cousin in rampant rage. He’d never do that, firstly because he was not a rapist and secondly, because he was not an angry bull as his aunt liked so much to portray him as.

Determined to prove Audré wrong, Draco sat up and accepted the goblet. He finished the contents in one go and smacked his lips. It was dead bitter. He closed his eyes and lied on the couch for a long while, silent and breathing deeply, trying to cleanse his mind of that awful dream. Adrian couldn’t run away like that! He just couldn’t! Draco was his father! He had rights to see him, be with him and exercise every power he had over him.

“Audré…” He heard his mother whisper to his aunt, as though trying to assess that she didn’t mistook poison for tonic.

“Don’t worry…” Audré assured her, “He’s just taking rest.”

Draco took a deep breath to assure his mother that he was alive. He had to admit that his aunt’s tonic really worked. Not a minute has passed and he was feeling better.

“Mother…” He opened his eyes and looked at Narcissa, “Mother,” He sat up and took her cold and trembling hands in his, “I’m sorry for last night.”

Narcissa burst into tears and hid her face in the handkerchief. “Is it…really you, Dra…co?” She sobbed and leaned on to his touch, “Is that…really m…y son?”

“Of course, it’s me.” Draco gave her a gentle hug and smoothed her hair. She looked so broken and weak, “It’s me, mother. Your son. Your Draco.”

“I don’t…know…” Narcissa shook her head in protest and sniffed, “I d…don’t know! I can’t fi…nd my Draco in you! My Draco was gentle wi…th his mm….other. My Draco was respe…ctful. My Draco nev…er kept a ssss……ecret from me.”

Draco hid a sigh. After all, Narcissa Malfoy was Narcissa Malfoy. She was his mother and a Malfoy and they both knew how very lethal unsatisfied curiosity was.

“Mother,” Draco stroked her back as she cried her heart out on his shoulder, “Mother, please listen to me…just listen…”

“Who is she?” Narcissa asked stubbornly, “Who is _she_ , Draco?”

“Does it matter?” Draco asked back defensively.

“Don’t argue with your mother!” Narcissa straightened up and demanded, her eyes bloodshot from all the crying, “Tell me! Who is this woman? Who – Is - She?”

Draco took solemn breath and decided to tackle the problem differently, “Astoria.” He replied calmly.

“Astoria?” Narcissa stared.

“Yes,” Draco erected his spine dignifiedly, “The only _she_ in my life is, was and will be Astoria Selene Malfoy, my lawful life partner.  She is my love. She is my sons’ mother. I never cheated on her, before or after our marriage.”

“But Adrian…” Narcissa looked puzzled.

“Adrian is _my_ son.” Draco stated firmly, “I didn’t know that he existed but now that it’s settled, I am ready to take his full responsibility. His mother is none of my concern.”

“But how did this…” Narcissa stopped midsentence and cleared her throat in discomfort.

“Mother, _please_ …” Draco decided to sidetrack the most vital issue, “It’s so insulting to ask that! Feels like I am a debaucher.”

“Don’t lash out on me!” Narcissa stood on her own defense, “You didn’t cheat! You didn’t debauch! How did this happen then? How did this boy came into being?”

“It was an accident!” Draco bellowed, the thin line of his patience now broken, “It was an accident! Okay? How do accidents happen? Huh? How do accidents happen?”

No one replied. Only Narcissa’s heavy breathing could be heard.

“I have been telling you and telling you! I - DON’T - KNOW!” Draco decided to nip this topic in the bud, “I – DIDN’T – KNOW! Maybe someone drugged me because I can’t recall it! But for Adrian, only for his sake, his wellbeing, his safety, I’m not pressing any charges against his mother. I love Adrian. He’s _my_ son. He’s _my_ blood. I do not want him to hate me, or take me as his mother’s enemy. But that doesn’t mean I’m interested in her.”

Narcissa stared at him for a long minute. Draco wondered what else was she scheming. Mother or not he was not going to put up with this nonsense for long. There is a limit to everything.

Narcissa looked up at Audré. The two ladies communicated in silence and then the latter nodded.

“Fine.” Narcissa sighed, looking displeased, “Now get up and get ready. We are going out. Your aunt reckons she knows where to find Adrian.”

Maybe because he already knew about Monette it didn’t immediately occur to Draco to enquire about it, and when it did, all the three ladies have left. He sat, feeling sour and wondering how to avoid taking his mother with them. If she went, he wouldn’t be able to talk freely with his aunt. Finally, after pondering over the matter and failing to find a solution he sighed and left it to his fate.

Draco got ready real quick and went down to the dining room. His mother and aunt were already there, halfway through their breakfasts, but Lillian wasn’t. Draco decided to not enquire about it and do his reputation more tarnishing.

He took a seat and poured a coffee. He wasn’t particularly hungry and now, with the added tension of having his mother accompany them, whatever was left of it, was gone.

Draco took a sip from coffee and stole a glance at Narcissa. She hasn’t spoken once since he appeared at the table. Her neatly plucked eyebrows were crowded near the root of her dainty nose. Draco knew this sign very well. Narcissa Malfoy was thinking and thinking very hard, because it was unusual that they’d be at the same table and she’d not notice that he wasn’t eating anything at all.

“I think we should start with the Opera House. Monette is having an exhibition there.” Audré finally broke the suspicious silence, “I’ll take Draco. Narcissa will follow us. She has already been there.”

“Oh no! I won’t be going with you, Audré.” Narcissa wiped her mouth on a napkin, “I’m going to Gringotts.”

“Gringotts?” Draco couldn’t believe his dumb luck. He had been wondering where to send for a random errand and here she was, leaving them on her own free will!

“Yes. Gringotts.” Narcissa produced a letter and showed it to him. Draco recognized the seal on the envelope, as well as the writing underneath which said: _Gringotts, la Banque des Sorciers_.

“Apparently, my son has withdrawn some very valuable family gold.” Narcissa put the letter back in her purse, a hint of displeasure in her tone, “And now these chary goblins want me to go and endorse them.”

“Valuable gold?” Draco’s mind reeled over the events of last few weeks, and he remembered the ones he had taken out before leaving for Brussels because they had left in short notice and he didn’t have time to bring gold from their British vault, “Endorse? Why should we endorse _our_ gold? I didn’t steal them. It’s ours!”

“I don’t know.” Narcissa shrugged and stood up, “Anyways, good luck.” She smirked and left.

Draco watched her retreating form, perplexed. Was he imagining it or did she look as though she’d not have him accompany her to Gringotts? What was going on? One moment she was adamant to go with them and one moment she was happy to let them go. Draco had been to Gringotts many times and he knew no one endorsed their gold, or at least Malfoys never did.

“That was a good ploy, wasn’t it?” He heard Audré say as soon as Narcissa was gone, “Now she’s off to Gringotts and we are off to see Monette.”

“W…wwhat?” As though he has been slapped hard on face by an imaginary force, Draco whipped back to his aunt and blinked, “You mean…you mean… _you_ …did that…” he pointed a trembling finger at the chair Narcissa was seating and asked.

“Now, now, Draco, don’t feign such innocence.” Audré didn’t seem remotely affected by what she has done, “You have already seen me doing things far worse. That reporter, Celia? Hope you still remember her.” She finished her coffee and dusted off her hands with a casual air.

“But….” Draco was still unsure how to react, “Celia is a witch and this is about a pack of goblins… you can’t fool a goblin…everything will come out when mother shows them that fake letter…they’ll tell her they didn’t send it!”

“Easy, nephew, easy.” Audré held up a calm hand in the air and smiled, “You think I didn’t consider that before I sent Narcissa that letter?”

“How then…” the last thing Draco wanted was his mother to think that he sent her that letter.

“Quite easy, you know.” Audré smiled serenely, “I usually don’t throw away envelopes and when it’s from Gringotts, then never. I knew what Narcissa is so curious about. I just used that as a tool. Endorsing gold is just an excuse. She’s off to Gringotts to meet Adrian’s mother.”

“Who?” Draco leapt to his feet so abruptly that his chair fell back.

“Adrian’s mother.” Audré chimed.

“Wait a minute…” like a bolt of lightning everything dawned on him and Draco’s senseless fear was slowly replaced by sensible reasoning and a cruel pleasure, “You sent mother a letter and told her that I withdrew some valuable gold. Now she has to endorse them before they can be passed to their new owner.”

“And she asked me about that gold and I told her that all about that Drawing Competition prize money.” Audré added the missing bit, “See dearest, that’s how we play chess.”

“Mother…” Draco shook his head and sighed, “She’ll never learn to give people some privacy. Never.” He straightened his chair and slumped on it, “Leeched on me when I went for my start of term shopping, like I was some baby. I was sixteen then and thanks to Dark Lord, was already carrying a Dark Mark.”

No one spoke. Draco remained silent and decided to spend the moments relishing this cruel pleasure to see his mother getting tricked.

“How very _loyal_!” Audré spoke after a while, sounding pensive, “First you assault a woman because she allegedly tried to kill your mother, and then you feel happy that your mother got tricked because she had tried to meet that same woman behind your back.”

“It’s not that....” Draco stammered, wondering how to explain this, “Don’t get me wrong. I love mother, I trust mother. I _am_ loyal to her.” he emphasized, “I just can’t take it when she nags and she nags a lot. It’s so irritating!”

“I beg to differ on that.” Audré was giving Draco a probing stare, “Nagging is irritating but eavesdropping is more irritating than nagging.”

“Eavesdropping?” Draco’s sixth sense kicked off, “Who eavesdropped?” He smiled cautiously.

“You are such a horrible actor, nephew.” Audré conjured a hand mirror and dabbed a napkin over her mouth as though cleaning a crumb, “You dare to fool me with such poor skills?”

Draco didn’t dare protest.

“I know you heard us talking last night.” Audré continued talking and checking her reflection, “Your footfalls didn’t reach the staircase after you supposedly _left_. It stopped right outside the door, in fact, behind it. You hid there and listened to us. Didn’t you?”   

“So what if I did? That’s not a crime.” Caught red-handed Draco tried to defend himself boldly. How did this woman know so much? And why? Couldn’t she know a bit less? “I was trying to know what mother was up to.” He supplied reasonably.

“As is Narcissa now.” Audré turned the mirror to Draco to show him his reflection. “And look who complains?”

Draco digested the taunt. Audré was unbeatable in argument, that he should have remembered.

“Sorry.” He apologized and made a mental note to muffle his footfalls next time he decided to eavesdrop.

“Don’t bother.” Audré stood up and smoothed her robe, “I know, it’s not true.” She stated and started for the same door behind which he had hid last night. Draco, too, stood up and followed her out. Together they left the Château and walked side by side to the Apparition Point, upon reaching where Audré offered him her right arm.

“So we are…” Draco took it and prepared for a side-along apparition, “going to that Bloodtraitor’s exhibition?”

“Bloodtraitor?” Audré’s dangerously calm tone told Draco that he has crossed the line.

“Sorry, aunt. Old habit, you know. They are hard to let go.” Draco managed a polite smile and surrendered. Everything was worth finding Adrian.

“Indeed.” Audré snorted, “I reckon even bird droppings carry more weight than your _sorrys_.” She said and turned on the spot. A familiar suffocating sensation later, when it was safe to breathe again, Draco opened his eyes.

By the word Opera, the first thing that appeared before Draco’s mind’s eyes was that of Fat Lady. Thankfully they didn’t have such moronic arrangements for the Slytherin dorms or Draco was sure he would have strangled that stupid Fat Lady if she ever tried to shatter glasses using her ugly piercing voice, which she did everywhere except the dungeons where there was no portraits.

But that was beside the point. They were not going to see an opera. Draco had been expecting to appear directly into an exhibition where some Bloodtraitor Monsieur Monette would be tricked by his aunt in divulging everything he knew about Adrian. After that they’d go and find Adrian.

But even that was beside the point. That Bloodtraitor could wait a while because nothing could be compared to the visual feast he was experiencing now. This was an opera? Merlin!

They were standing on a foyer and using a plain ‘grand’ was understatement to describe it. Draco’s gaze lingered on the ceiling which was domed, and had wonderfully intricate patterns and cherubs with the most beautiful decoration on earth. And those adorned columns that supported the ceiling? Has he ever seen anything remotely close to these? Draco couldn’t recall one. The lighting? Dramatic! The balconies that hung from the upper floors? Wonderful. The statues? Exquisite. And as though that was not enough to make a visitor entranced at first sight, a grand staircase lay before him.

“Welcome to Palais Garnier, nephew. _We_ simply call it Opéra,” Audré declared pleasantly, as though enjoying his awe, “That’s the Grand Staircase: _L_ _e Grand Escalier de Charles Garnier_.” She seemed to have noted his point of interest, which wasn’t hard since he was staring unblinkingly at it, “It’s a monument within the monument. When Hitler toured Paris in 1940, after the German invasion, his first stop was _this_ Opéra House. His close allies said he was so fascinated by it, that he was planning to build one in Berlin.”

“Who is Hitler?” Draco asked vaguely, staring mystifyingly at the Grand Staircase. From finest quality white marbles to the many fluorine, onyxes and jaspers that accented it, each feature of the staircase was more opulent and stunning than the last. They had a Ball Room at Manor and it was, as per most reluctant and envious pureblood families, the finest in entire Britain. Draco had been so proud of it until now when he realized that the manor Ball Room was nothing compared to this Muggle opera house which seemed to have attracted a funny named German.

“Why do I forget that Malfoys never take Muggle Studies?”Audré’s sigh was deep and resonant, “Hitler was the Muggle Voldemort.”

“Muggle Vol…” Like a bad bout of cough that broke a pleasant dream, Draco was whipped back to reality, his mouth now sour, “Muggles had a Dark Lord?”

“Who said you can’t be a Dark Lord if you don’t have a wand?” Audré asked back, “Do you know more people died in the hands of these wandless Dark Lords than those with wands?”

Draco didn’t care to ponder on the topic, but somehow it sounded as though Audré was implying that Muggles were always the worst kind, even as Dark Lords, which itself was a satisfying notion. As Audré started for the Grand Staircase, he silently followed her. Now that the initial trance was broken, he started noticing the surroundings. The first thing that pleased him was that no stupid fat lady was practicing shattering a goblet here and second, even for a Muggle opera house, there was no Muggle in the vicinity. The foyer and the grand marble staircase were packed with people in robes of all designs and colours and witches hats of every imaginable fashion. Some were sitting on the steps and conversing idly. Some were taking pictures. A group of teenagers in Beauxbatons students were being given lecture on the palace’s many features.

“It might astonish you Draco,” Audré said, following Draco’s frown at the students, “but every national property on French soil is ours as much it’s the Muggles’.  This Opera, for instance, is open for public, mostly Muggle, but on specific days, it is open only for us. We can come to enjoy a play, as these people have. We can host exhibitions, as Monette is. Or we can just come for a tour, like those students are.”

Draco was privately impressed by the French Ministry of Magic’s thoughtfulness and their care for the Wizarding citizens. Would the British learn from it? Considering that that Potty and Weasel were now in charge of the Ministry, chances were next to zero.

“Did uncle tell you how we had to get on board Hogwarts Express?” He asked Audré. They have come up on the first landing from where two flights of stairs were leading off to left and right.  

“You mean platform nine and three-quarters?” Audré took the stairs on the left and nodded, “Yes. But I reckon he deliberately forgot to mention that a lot of purebloods hated sharing Kings Cross with Muggles.”

“You know?” Draco was taken aback, “Of course you know. Everyone knows! Hogwarts and its ways are a total laughing stock.” He said resentfully, “I still remember that look of horror Durmstrang pupils had given us when they learned how we go to school. One almost puked. French or not, your Ministry at least doesn’t tell you to use a Muggle train station, like it is some kind of bloody public toilet!” He muttered darkly.

They came up on the first floor where a spacious corridor was bordered on one side by ornate balustrades overlooking the Grand Staircase and a large opening, flanked by high Corinthian columns, in a wall on the other side, leading into what must be the actual exhibition. Audré crossed distance briskly, Draco followed her and they entered a circular room.

Draco had expected more grandeur to follow but this room had nothing as such. It was vast and circular but simple. No dramatic lighting, no extravagant staircase, no frescoed ceiling. The only beauty was coming from the paintings that were put on display in many of the planned niches. Visitors were gathered before them.

Draco had come for Monette but somehow he forgot it as soon as he noticed the nearest painting. It was on a bevy of swans swimming idly on a lake. Draco has seen many paintings, he was fairly good on it himself, but he hasn’t seen any painting where water could look so real!

With Monette’s touch it felt as though real swans were swimming on real water. It looked like a landscape from Malfoy Manor where they had a stream and snowy white swans swimming in it.

Lost, Draco moved to the next painting. On this one, several elephants were sniffing in the air. It was funny at first sight but on careful scrutiny revealed the artist’s deep observation skill. Draco read the caption. It said: Elephants sniffing for rain.

Draco smirked. He walked around the hall, and examined with care every piece of art Monette has put on display. A few familiar places have been drawn too. Florence…. Mediterranean…. the Grand Canal of Venice. This one captured Draco’s attention the most. Astoria was very fond of Venice. She would have loved to be presented this painting by her beloved husband, if she were alive. She had such great tastes!

Draco stifled a sigh and checked the label. It was already marked as ‘sold’. Some stupid must have bought it before him. What did non-Malfoys understand of Venice? Nothing. They must have bought this wonderful painting to show and impress people, as did riffraff like Weasleys when they landed in Egypt. Draco was adamant. This painting must be his, it must be in his possession. Could he talk to Monette and have that order cancelled and the painting sold to him?

It was then that Draco remembered the purpose of his visit. He was here for Adrian, not to buy paintings. But Bloodtraitor or not, he had admit, that Monette knew drawing, he knew his medium, and he knew to manipulate it and most importantly, knew what _not_ to draw.

Leaving the paintings for a while, he looked around for Audré. After a minute’s careful scanning of the crowd, most of whom were as bedazzled as he had been moments ago, he found her in the far end of the hall, standing.

Draco walked to her. The Hall consisted of a central circular room and two adjoining rectangular rooms. The paintings were all on display in the circular room, and the rectangular rooms were, by the looks of it, for artist’s retreat and the press. As he left the main exhibition area Draco noticed that the crowd started getting thin, and upon reaching his aunt, he saw that she was standing at a distance from what appeared to be an interview underway.

So this was Monette? Draco scanned the man who was talking to the reporters. Honestly, didn’t know what he had been expecting. Maybe his image of Bloodtraitors was always associated with the likes of Weasleys because it was disappointing to see that Monette was a tall and lean man with salt and pepper hair and well-tailored expensive robes. He looked focused, something that wasn’t quite frequent among artists. Artists usually had an unkempt look about them. Anyways, he didn’t like him at all, maybe because Monette had an air of no nonsense about him, or that the sharpness of his blue eyes seemed to scan everything it was bestowed upon or the annoying fact that he was smiling not so politely or that he was standing more proudly than a man like him should.

“Monsieur Monette! Monsieur Monette!” A short witch was jumping up and down in her place and trying to attract the artist’s attention, “Monsieur Monette, our readers want to know why you suddenly chose watercolour as a medium? What’s so fascinating about it?”

“First of all, I didn’t choose to paint in watercolour _suddenly_.” Monette said solemnly, “Those who know my work know that I’ve been doing it for last twenty years. Now, to your original question, Madame, why I chose this medium?” He paused and pondered, “I think I like the immediacy of watercolour. There is nothing better than watercolour for portraying water. It’s very obvious. Waterscapes of all types lift off with watercolour. I have painted leaves on a river bed and they looked real! I couldn't imagine getting that effect with any other medium. But watercolour is a temperamental mistress.” He warned jokingly and everyone laughed, “Just when you think you mastered the media, something happens that reminds you that there are still things to learn. Even with magic, some mistakes in watercolour are hard to rectify, and even impossible. You have to start anew.”

“You said it’s hard to draw in watercolour. So what would be your advice for aspiring artists?” Another reporter, a dignified looking wizard asked this time.

“Umm…” Monette smiled, “Well, drawing skills are essential. One must study the merits of the pigments they use. Some are transparent and some are opaque. They need to know which are which. Likewise they must study colour mixing. They can start with basics, for example the simple colour wheel would be good for beginners….umm…” he frowned, “Choosing good brushes or at least the best one can afford and using the good quality watercolour paper. I use cold pressed papers. It makes less mess of bathroom because you won't need to presoak and stretch which is a real bore.”

Everyone laughed again.

“Enough for today!” Monette held up hands, “I’d like to be excused now.”

“One last question, Monsieur, one last question….” The short witch was still jumping up and down to see over the shoulders of her tall colleagues. She was at the back of the circle.

“Let the lady in…” Monette asked the wizards and they parted to allow her to come forward, “Just one last question, okay?”

The witch nodded, “Monsieur, where did you inherit art from? Was anyone in your family a natural artist?”

Was it Draco’s illusion or Monette’s features really became grave? “As far as I know,” he said solemnly, “no one in my family was an artist. I’m my mother’s only child.”

Draco couldn’t help but note that Monette used ‘mother’ instead of ‘parents’ in that answer. It sounded pretty odd to his ears.

“However,” Monette’s smile was back, “Your question reminds me of my little pupil. He’s just five and half and he has already won a very prestigious drawing competition. I’m sure he has art in his blood.”

Draco thought his heart would explode from the combined effect of excess pride and excess joy. He knew who that boy was. Monette was talking about Adrian.  Aunt Audré was right! Monette was giving Adrian private lessons. They have knocked the right person!

He heard someone clearing throat loudly and following the sound, Draco found his aunt. She was giving him a look that could only have one meaning: _let me handle the situation._

Draco was glad to obey and it wasn’t too often that that happened. He backed away and went to the nearest painting, which was another simply enchanting one, portraying the same painting with leaves floating on water that Monette had talked about a minute ago. It looked so real that he didn’t have to feign that he was absorbed in it while his aunt took care of the artist.

“ _Chère Madame Audré…_ (My dear Madame Audré…)” Draco focused his gaze on the glass covering the painting and saw on its clear and smooth surface a good reflection of what was happening behind him. Monette has gotten rid of the reporters and interviewers, walked to his aunt and greeted her in the most welcoming fashion that was thought to be impossible for him, “ _J'espère vous trouver en forme...._ (I hope I find you well…)” He took her hands and brought them courteously to his lips.

Draco blinked rapidly, thrice. He had no idea that his aunt and Monette knew each other so well. He watched as Audré and Monette exchanged greetings with the latter enquiring about her children and the former doing the same about his mother and grandmother.

“ _Laissez-moi vous présenter à mon neveu…_ (Let me introduce you to my nephew…)” Draco was wondering why Audré hadn’t breathed a word about her knowing Monette personally last night at dinner when the word ‘neveu’ broke his streams of thought, “Draco!” He heard her elegant voice call him.

As though it was already planned between them, Draco didn’t respond and feigned as though he was absorbed in the painting he was standing before. Audré called him three times and on the fourth count, he turned, looking slightly perplexed.

“Aunt?” He looked around at everyone but Audré, who he knew was standing just seven feet away from him, on the left. Slowly he shifted his gaze to left, located her and gave her the most innocent and confused look that his treacherous features could conjure at that moment.

“Draco, dearest,” Audré’s smile was patient and sympathetic, as well as with a little touch of praise and pride for him, “Come here. Let me introduce you to the artist.”

Draco erected his spine, something he has learnt from his father who did it quite often to look dignified and taller. He walked to Audré and Monette, his heart beating like a drum in low hum and his features as solemn as carelessly drifting clouds.

“My nephew. Draco.” Audré placed a light hand on his shoulder and introduced him to Monette with a charming smile, “Draco Malfoy.”

“Enchanté.” Draco wasn’t entirely pleased to meet Monette but he offered to shake hands with him, nonetheless.

Monette neither greeted back and nor did he shake hands with Draco. His sharp and penetrating deep blue eyes were fixed on him, straight, as though he has forgotten to blink. Draco returned it with an equally solemn and calm gaze of his own and was about withdrew his unaccepted hand when Monette took and shook it. For an artist, his fingers were thin and long but his grip was very firm.

“Nice to meet you, Monsieur Malfoy.” Monette said with a smile. His eyes still fixed on him unblinkingly, “I don’t know where but I feel like I have seen you before.”

Draco felt like he has chased a very tricky Snitch and was inches away from to catching it when he had to let it go because it wouldn’t win him the match. He knew what Monette was meaning. He was referring to Adrian who looked, Draco’s heart would always swell in pride, like a miniature Draco Malfoy, except those little curls, which annoyingly made his son more adorable that he was when he was as a boy.

“Most Malfoys inherit their trademark features.” Audré’s casual smile could never make one suspicious of what’s really behind it, “Grey eyes and platinum blonde hair.”

“It’s not that…” Monette shook his head slowly and finally shifted his gaze, “So…where is the rest of his family?” He scanned the crowd and asked Audré.

“Draco’s mother couldn’t come.” Audré didn’t sound remotely affected, “She was planning to accompany us but a letter came from Gringotts and she had to go there instead. And Draco’s father is no more.”

“I’m sorry.” Monette turned to Draco, deadpan, “Your children…”

“I’m a widower.” Draco didn’t let him complete the sentence and stated solemnly. The earlier he cleared up any buds of suspicion, the better because he didn’t know what Monette knew about Adrian’s father and judging by the way that Mudblood has ran away with Adrian, repeatedly, there was no way she’d portray him graciously to the artist.

“I’m very very sorry.” Monette’s features showed true kindness this time, as well as a generous amount of shock. His eyes roved down Draco’s black attire and his smile broadened, “I hope you will not begrudge my curiosity. It’s just that you remind of someone who’s very close to my heart. He is a pupil of mine. His name is Adrian.”

“I see…” was all that Draco could manage to speak. His heart that had been beating like a low rumble was racing now. Monette had remarkable observation power! He has linked Draco to Adrian on their first meeting!

“Is he the same pupil you said won a competition?” Trust Audré to make use of every tiny bit of opportunity to get to what she wanted, “That five and half years old fellow?”

“The very same.” Monette nodded pleasantly, “Marvelous talent! I have never seen anyone draw like that in his age! He has art in his blood!”

Draco was sure he disliked Monette but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep disliking him. The rate at which the artist was praising his son and so openly and unboundly, Draco feared that he might end up liking him.

“I have never heard of such talent. Are you sure he’s five and a half?” Audré asked Monette casually, “Maybe he is older than his parents claim him as.”

Monette snorted as though greatly amused, “Trusts lawyers to _always_ dig up an issue to argue on.” He steered Audré and Draco back to the exhibition, “Adrian _is_ five and a half, Madame Audré. There is no doubt about that. He is a child prodigy. Michelangelo was also a child prodigy.”

Draco might not have taken Muggle Studies but he knew who Monette was talking about. He has seen Michelangelo’s works in many Italian cities, notably, Bologna, Florence and Rome. Even for a Muggle his work was marvelous.

“Michelangelo’s mother died when he was only six.” Monette was telling Audré and she too was listening aptly, “After her death the boy was sent to live with a nanny and her husband. That man happened to be a stonecutter in a marble quarry. There Michelangelo gained his love for marble. When he grew a bit older, his father sent him to Florence for studying. But the young artist showed no interest in schooling. He began copying paintings from church. At the age of thirteen, Michelangelo was apprenticed to Ghirlandaio. Ghirlandaio was a master fresco painter and the owner of the largest workshop in Florence at that period. You can easily imagine what a great honour it was to become his apprentice! The next year, Michelangelo’s father persuaded Ghirlandaio to pay his son as a full time artist, which was rare for someone who was fourteen. What would you say now? That Michelangelo wasn’t fourteen years old at all?” He directed the question to Audré.

Draco couldn’t get where the discussion was heading to. It was pleasant to learn that his son was being compared to Michelangelo, but it was equally confusing and frustrating to see they were not any closer to finding him.

“All I can say is that in Michelangelo’s time, people were less crime prone.” Audré replied diplomatically, “I’m not saying your pupil’s parents are lying about their son’s age. I’m just saying that generally speaking, these days people lie a lot and for no reason at all. Maybe if I could see the boy in person I could see if your claims are right.” She shrugged.

Audré was great! Draco suppressed an urge to give her a hug. Now he understood her. She was playing with Monette’s pride on Adrian and trying to use it on her favour. That’s called manipulation. Oh, what would he have done without her?

“Really?” Monette laughed, “Fine, I’ll…” he looked at Draco and stopped midsentence, “…I’ll show you one of his paintings. He finished it very recently.” He said vaguely and steered them back to the exhibition.

Draco followed Monette, wondering what caused him to stop suddenly and sound so thoughtful afterwards. Was he planning for Audré to meet Adrian? Did he cancel it? If so, why? Was he suspecting them, suspecting _him_ to be more precise?

Maybe because Draco was half immersed in his thoughts and half frightful about getting caught that he didn’t notice where Monette was leading them to and when he did, he discovered himself before a painting that he didn’t check last time.

Even before Monette could attest who the artist was, Draco understood it. He knew those strokes of paintbrush, he knew that subtle colour choice, and he knew who could draw with such care and sincerity. Adrian. Only Adrian could draw like that.

The painting was very simple. A little boy was playing with some pigeons on the backdrop of what looked like a Muggle cathedral.

“Notre Dame…” Audré said pleasantly, “…de Paris.” She looked at Monette, who himself was examining the painting with an awed expression, “I am taking my words back, Monette. It doesn’t matter how old your little pupil is. He is got to be extremely talented to dare to draw Notre Dame.”

“He likes Notre Dame and most importantly, those pigeons.” Monette said fondly, “He goes there often. They live nearby.”

Draco’s heart was now beating somewhere close to his throat. Adrian lived somewhere around this cathedral called Notre Dame! ‘Come on, Monette, tell us where he lives!’ He urged the artist silently.

“How do you know?” Audré stole a warning glance at Draco and cautioned him to not set up the game, “Have you been to his home?”

“Oh yes,” Monette nodded, still looking bemusedly at the painting, “Last Sunday his family invited me to attend an Apéro to celebrate his winning the competition. Wonderful people! Wonderful family! So gracious! Madame Delacour sent her personal elf to take me to their home.”

With extreme difficulty Draco controlled himself from swearing in public. Shit! Shit! Shit! Why send an elf? Now there was no way Monette could tell them where exactly Adrian lived!

“That’s so nice of them!” Audré glared at Draco and smiled sweetly at Monette, “Enough talking Monette. Now give me a personal tour of your exhibition.”

As Monette nodded and steered Audré to the rest of his paintings, Draco deliberately fell back. He was here to find out Adrian’s address and when that couldn’t be done, the exhibition didn’t matter anymore. He left the hall and came out on the corridor. It hung over the Grand Staircase like a balcony. Draco walked slowly to a quiet corner and stood there. Monette was a last hope. That was gone now. How on Earth was he going to find Adrian?

•••••

Gringotts, France, was headed by Geccemp and apart from being amiable, he was freakishly clever. So, when around ten o’ clock on Thursday morning one of his staff knocked on his office door and entered with an elegantly dressed witch to introduce her as Madame Narcissa Malfoy, he took every precaution to have his Chief Curse Breaker not visit him until further notice.

“Make sure no one disturbs Madame Narcissa when she is in my office.” He instructed the accompanying goblin sternly, “Not even the staffs.” He said pointedly and the goblin nodded and left.

“Please, take a seat, Madame.” Geccemp didn’t leave his seat but took care to show enough graciousness. His last encounter with her son was still fresh in his mind. “I believe it’s your first time in French Gringotts.” He said, smiling.

“It is.” Madame Narcissa said curtly. Her pointed nose was slightly wrinkled as she looked down it at the seat she was being offered and after a long minute’s scrutiny, took it with an air of delicacy, as though she feared the chair would collapse any moment.

“Please be comfortable, Madame.” Geccemp said politely, although he knew perfectly well, judging by his ill-mannered her son, that she wouldn’t do so. Madame Malfoy sat and as though in enemy territory, started scanning everything in his office. “That chair is perfectly safe to occupy.” He drew her attention.

Madame Narcissa didn’t respond. Observation done, she looked somewhat satisfied and relaxed. Geccemp was wondering what it was all about when she retrieved a letter from her purse and pushed it towards him.

“I received this this morning,” She said coldly, as though talking to Geccemp was hurting her dignity a lot, “I want to know what this all about.”

Geccemp perched his pinch-nez and examined the letter. It was from his bank, at least the envelope and the parchment suggested so, but the writing wasn’t a goblin’s. The Goblins wrote in more slanting and pointed fashion, and this writing was a witch’s. The contents were even more surprising. It was directly addressed to Madame Narcissa Malfoy and was asking her to come to Gringotts to endorse some gold which were ‘valuable’.

Maybe it was because Geccemp had been reading the letter longer than Madame Narcissa’s likings, because she cleared her throat loudly and drew his attention. Geccemp’s sharp wit decided to not make a scene here, before this sensitive client of theirs’, for she would definitely misinterpret it as unprofessionalism.

“Well,” Geccemp looked up from the letter and his eyes, “Madame, what exactly do you want to know?” He asked her while formulating a plan in his head.

“I want to know who the new owner is.” Madame Narcissa stated firmly, her blue eyes fixed on Geccemp’s features unblinkingly, “I want to meet her.” she demanded.

“But Madame this letter doesn’t state anything about a witch.” Geccemp supplied reasonably. He also took care to show his astonishment in his features.

“I know it’s a woman.” Madame Narcissa didn’t look like a witch who’d easily reconcile, “That gold was taken out by my son, who didn’t understand their value at that time. He used them for prize money…”

“Prize money?” Geccemp’s eyes immediately fell on the gold bars Jean had asked him to trace their origin of and his sixth sense kicked off.

“…in a Drawing Competition.” Madame Narcissa almost chewed out the last words, “My sister-in-law, Audré, has informed me that a boy won that competition and his mother is the person I am looking for.”

“I see…” Geccemp supplied with as much polite smile as he could conjure at this moment. Did that mean that Jean was…

“Madame, I understand that it’s your noble desire to see that the Malfoy family gold was passed to a decent person.” He didn’t let the thought to complete itself and continued, “But I can’t help you in this matter. At Gringotts, we only safe keep the gold. It’s not our job to trace the owner.”

“But you traced me,” Madame Narcissa’s cold blue eyes were ablaze, “You can trace her too.”

“In that case Madame, you’d need to come with a court order.” Geccemp didn’t go into the details that his bank didn’t trace her at all, “It must have a detailed account that the said person has or is misusing your family gold and you wish to have her apprehended and brought to justice. Without a court order I can’t run a trace on our vault owners. That’s the Wizarding law. I can’t break it.”

His words had their intended effect on the arrogant Madame Narcissa because she stared at him for a long moment, as though trying to burn him on that spot. Geccemp returned it with an equally professionally cool stare of his.

“Fine,” Madame Narcissa lifted her chin and stood up, “In that case, I’ll not endorse the gold. They will not be passed to her.”

“As the Madame wishes.” Geccemp returned the letter to her. Madame Narcissa took it, shoved it in her purse and left, ignoring his polite farewell.

Geccemp sat still for a very long time. As a boss, he has never shown untoward curiosity to his employees’ private lives. He knew Jean had a little son, whose father’s identity was a mystery to all. She has never told him anything about him and he, too, has never felt like probing her about it. Jean was the best staff Geccemp had. She was talented, hardworking and very serious about her work and has broken every convention regarding the role of women in Gringotts. She has taken Curse Breaking to a new height, given it a new scientific base. Geccemp had deep respect for Jean. He’d never want to upset or lose her.

Geccemp tried to place the facts he had on table. Jean had a son and the boy’s father was unknown. She had intense fear for the Malfoys, especially Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy withdrew some gold and used it for prize money. The gold found its way to Jean’s son. Jean was looking for ways to trace the gold and the gold’s previous owner, Narcissa Malfoy was looking to do the same.

What did that mean?

Geccemp didn’t like to knit a web on insufficient evidence but this was different. This felt strangely ominous. And there was one person who could help him now.

Audré Chombrun Malfoy.

Geccemp dipped his quill and started composing a letter to Madame Audré. When it was done, he called Greepak and asked him to bring the Malfoy Vault account book. If the gold Jean had asked him to trace were indeed withdrawn from there, there would be a record. As the final measure, he decided to meet Jean’s little son. Adrian.

Ragnuk forbid, because the mere thought sent a chill down Geccemp’s spine, that there could be any connection between that innocent boy and that bigot, Draco Malfoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 


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